


Playing with Death

by Nobodii



Series: Reality is a Game [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Can you tell I love Bruce?, Dissociation, Everyone's Hurt, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Bruce Banner, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Wade Wilson, I Do, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, POV Peter Parker, Peter Parker-centric, Pining Peter, Prison, References to Depression, Schizophrenic Wade Wilson, Self-Harm, Sokovia Accords, Suicidal Thoughts, Sweet, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, except for the last chapter, sweet pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobodii/pseuds/Nobodii
Summary: “Work colleague my ass. You and I both know that’s a lie.”‘It doesn’t matter, Wade! You don’t care! You don’t care about how I feel or what I want so no, you do not get a say in my decisions.’“Fuck that. I’m not letting you go back and that’s final.” Wade was pissing him off. He kept sending mixed signals, confusing Peter and his poor heart. He knew Wade didn’t care, knew he didn’t love him.He knew, but Wade kept making him doubt. He kept making Peter think, ‘maybe’ and ‘what if’. It wasn’t fair. Peter knew what he should do. He knew what the right decision was, but he was selfish. He was selfish and weak and hopelessly in love.Maintaining eye-contact with Wade, Peter made his decision with a heavy heart.‘Cable, get this collar off me.’
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Harry Osborn & Peter Parker, Norman Osborn & Peter Parker, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Reality is a Game [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840483
Comments: 21
Kudos: 146





	1. Part 1: Ride and Die

**Author's Note:**

> This is originally supposed to be 2 chapters but we'll see. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for story updates and cause I'm desperate ahahahaha:  
> [My Tumblr y'all](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nobodiisstuff/blog/nobodiisstuff)

Peter's life was much like the movie A Series of Unfortunate Events. His luck was so bad even his schoolmates noticed it and deemed it the horrifying _'Parker Luck'_. First his parents. Then his uncle. And now his Aunt. It was as though the universe was punishing him for something he didn't do.

Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe they're punishing the wrong person. Maybe the universe has nothing to do with it. Maybe Peter's just a bad luck charm. A curse. A mistake. Maybe he just carries death around, infecting everyone but himself. Like a disease. Maybe he's a disease. A plague on people's lives. An accident.

His life was so bad, so filled with pain and trauma that he'd even say it was worse than Batman's. And Batman's been through some shit.

"Peter?" A weak voice called out to him. His aunt he distantly realised. Right. He was visiting his aunt. He should be paying rapt attention to her. Should be savouring his last days with her. Hanging onto every word, every sound, every look.

But he _can't_. He can't focus on the present, on the now. All he can think about is the fact that he only has the present and the now. Cause he's gonna lose her. And he doesn't want that. He can't handle that.

So he doesn't. Doesn't hang on to her like he should cause his brain refuses to acknowledge that this is true. That she's dying.

And he knows, logically, realistically, that when she's gone he's gonna hate himself. Gonna regret spacing out and thinking instead of feeling, but he can't bring himself to do anything about it.

"Peter?" Right. Aunt May.

'Yeah. Sorry May I uh-' 

"Spaced out? It's fine, honey. I just wanted you to pass me some water."

'Right sorry.' Peter got up, pouring some water into a cup and adding a straw. He held it up to his aunt's lips watching her take the straw between them.

She tried to take the glass from his hands but Peter didn't let her. It would be too much for her shaking hands and weak bones. Last week had confirmed that.

'I'll do it May.' He insisted, holding steady onto the cup until she dropped her hand with a defeated sigh. When the water was done he rested the cup on a nearby table, settling in his seat once again.

"How's Harry?"

'Mm he's fine. He sends his regards. Again. Said he'd come with me next time.'

"He better. I miss him."

'Mmm.'

"And your stay with Mr. Osborn?"

'It's fine. Their house is nice and stuff and they've been very welcoming. I still miss our apartment though. It's cosy.' 

"Yes. Yes it is. But don't be ungrateful now. Mr. Osborn was very generous offering to let you stay with them until I got better. You must never forget to thank them." Peter hummed once more, not mentioning the fact that he barely ever left his room or ate their food too afraid to impose.

It was only when they invited him to dinner and breakfast that he allowed himself their home cooked meals.

They were better than May's cooking but they weren't May. They stayed in silence, Peter thinking about his stay with the Osborns until May broke it once again.

"....Peter?"

'Yes, May?'

"Mr. Osborn has agreed to take you in should I not..get..better..."

'What?' May sighed, raising a shaky hand to her temple. God, she'd lost so much weight. She used to be youthful, well sized, all curvy edges and smooth skin. Now she was wrinkled, her skin clinging desperately onto her bones. She looked fragile. Empty. Small.

"Mr. Osborn will be your Foster parent." She said it so firmly. As though it was a fact. But it couldn't be. Cause she was going to get better. She had to. He wanted to be enraged. To be furious that she had just given up. That she had just handed him over to some man. But he couldn't find it within himself to feel anything but numb.

'Oh....May I....I don't want you to leave...You're all I have.' Peter's voice broke, struggling to hold back tears.

"Oh baby. I know. I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry you've only known loss at such a young age. But you have Norman and Harry now. And all your friends. And I'll always be with you. Even after death." She held onto his hand as tightly as she could manage, silently pleading with him to understand.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Cause all he could see, all he could think of was her corspe, laying motionless in an open casket. All he could think of was all the misfortune and death he brought to people's lives.

And he wanted to be good. Wanted to be better, he was Spiderman goddammit! But Spiderman and Peter Parker were different people.

And Spiderman might be a beacon of hope, a good boy playing by the rules, but Peter Parker was the scapegoat. The stray dog that only got the leftovers. Peter Parker was just Peter Parker. 

-

Everyone knew Spiderman patrolled weekly. It was common sense. In the Afternoon on a week, Spiderman was out and about. On the weekends it was early morning and late night.

So a few eyebrows rose when a whole week passed and no Spiderman was seen. And then more eyebrows the following week. And more until the newspapers got the memo. _'Where's Spiderman??'_ Had been its title. A whole page, dedicated to pondering Spider-man's disappearance.

Peter could admit that when it happened, he was flattered. He could also admit he'd been slacking on his patrols. And school. But we're talking about his patrols.

So even though he had school the next day, he was out late at night, when most of the crime happens anyway, waiting on a roof for a sign. He pulled out his phone, calling Harry and connecting it to his mask(Thanks Mr. Stark).

_"Peter?"_

'Hey Harry I-'

 _"How's May?"_ Peter sighed. He wasn't in the mood for a conversation.

'I'll tell you later. Just wanted to say I'll be home late.'

 _"Why? Aren't visiting hours done?"_ God he should've just texted him.

'Haarrry.'

_"Right. Sorry. I'll see you later then."_

'Yes. Thank you. Bye.'

 _"Bye Pete.'"_ And now he felt like an ass. Friendship was hard, not magic. Standing up from his crouch and stretching, Peter felt and heard multiple bones in his body crack. It really has been a while since he's patrolled. He hoped he could keep up.

Turns out he could. There weren't alot of things happening in the city. A few petty crimes here and there. Few good punches. One short but adrenaline filled fight. He'd actually gotten stabbed in that one. It hurt, alot, but it was healing. Well at least he thought it was. He couldn't really tell.

_"Peter?"_

'Yes, Karen?'

 _"There seems to be some trouble on 23rd Street. A reported 'Green Goblin'."_ Peter was already on his way, swinging through wide streets and narrows alleys.

'Back story, Karen!' He yelled against the rush of air, slightly out of breath and wobbly from lack of practice.

_"He's been showing up for quite some time. All over the news. He's dressed as a green goblin and floats on an advanced hover board with pumpkin bombs and a witch's cackle."_

'You're kidding me right?'

_"No Peter."_

'That's ridiculous! Sounds like some kid throwing an elaborate Halloween prank.'

_"Halloween has not arrived yet Peter."_

'I know but the spirit is still here.' He actually didn't know. He'd been losing track of time for quite some, well, time.

 _"He has hurt people, Peter. Nothing fatal, but surely a prank is meant to create entertainment not conflict."_ Peter landed on a roof in a familiar crouch, scanning the area for the 'Green Goblin'.

All he could see was the damage; orange gas floating in the air in different ares, the scorched pavement, injured people helping eachother. No green though.

 _"It seems he has left already._ " Peter didn't reply, swinging down and helping people but keeping himself ready for an attack.

For the rest of the month, well really whenever Petter managed to don the suit and leave the house, Peter searched for the Goblin. He wasn't out every night or every week or on a certain day.

His appearances were random, which meant hard to track, which meant hard to pin which meant hard fight. He had, on few occasions, come into contact with him.

They always fought for a bit, the goblin getting the upper hand somehow and then leaving randomly, cackling and promising to defeat him next time. Which-you can't defeat him if you keep leaving. 

November rolled around quietly. No Spiderman action, no Gwen action, Flash had started to leave him alone (not that he's complaining but why??) and Mr. Osborn was like a second father to him.

When Peter didn't want to leave bed he would send an excuse to the school and bring him breakfast in bed. And yeah, he was spoiling him, but it felt so nice, so good to just breathe without pressure from anyone or anything, and he really appreciated the man for that.

Harry however, well things started to fall apart with him, but it was a slow descent. He could handle a slow descent. When he was better he would talk to Harry and get back to friendship goals. Yeah.

"Peter?" God, he was kind of tired of hearing his name. He curled further up into his blankets, cocooning himself as much as possible before replying with a weak 'come in'.

"Hey there kiddo." Mr. Osborn sat on the edge of the bed, next to Peter's head, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on Caterpillar. Let me see you." And maybe Peter cocooned himself enough to get a nickname for it. Whatever. He was too old to care about nicknames anyway.

He wriggled his head to the top, letting his eyes out but leaving the rest of it. Mr. Osborn had his phone in his hand. That was never a good thing. Never.

'Mr. Osborn..-'

"It's Norman Pete."

'Right...Norman...what's..why?'

"The uh...the hospital called. She's gone. In her sleep." And just like that his quiet November got louder. He knew it was coming. They both did. The doctors had said it was too late. It had grown too much. He knew she wasn't going to survive.

That didn't make it easier to handle. Didn't make it more bearable. Easier to digest. He still struggled with the concept of losing Uncle Ben forever. He just couldn't fathom losing everyone. It seemed so surreal.

'What do you mean she's gone? She can't be-she can't be gone. It doesn't-she can't.'

"I'm sorry Peter. I'm so sorry." Peter couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't process. He was blank. Numb. He didn't even notice when he stared crying. Just knew one moment he was under the blankets and next moment Norman was hugging him tightly and shushing his hoarse sobs.

He was always so conscious of everything else he could lose. His house, his education, his life. But now, now he truly thought he had nothing to lose. Nothing left for the world to take away from him. Nothing that could compare. He didn't know how wrong he was.

-

Peter knew exactly when he started hating Fridays. They used to be his favourite, end of the week, more patrol time, more dumpster diving more everything. He remembers when he felt the snap.

When he felt loathe grow within his chest and bubble up, making his vision red, his veins pop, his fists clench as he grit his teeth. He'd actually felt his bones shift and his teeth crack. Super Strength wasn't always fun. 

Uncle Ben's funeral was a Friday. Aunt May died on a Friday. His parents left on a Friday. The moment he started hating Fridays was the only clear memory he had.

Only distinct timeline he could remember. Everything else started meshing, melding, blurring. From small things like his first birthday party to things like when he started cutting. Which was a new development.

Yes. Spiderman, the Amazing Spiderman, cut himself. Cut his wrists, his arms, his thighs. Sometimes they would overlap. Sometimes he'd go somewhere new. The point is, he cut.

When he'd first done it, it healed relavltively quickly, because of his accelerated healing. So he cut deeper. And deeper. And deeper until a scar remained. 

He wanted the scars, no matter how hard they were to hide. Wanted the pain and the blood. Wanted proof of his life. Proof that he'd survived. Proof that he didn't deserve to. Sometimes he would push that much deeper to feel it graze his bone.

Sure it was extreme, but that's what he needed. Plus, it'd heal. He'd be fine. He'd even started patrolling more, if only to get a good beating before locking up the bad guys, so his self destruction wasn't completely selfish.

"Peter?"

'Mmmm.'

"Peter it's my day off but I'll be going to the factory for a bit, okay? Call me if you need anything." Peter nodded minutely, peeking his head out from the pillows to blink at Norman. He waved, sending a sad smile to him before shutting his door and leaving. 

It was a weekday, Friday to be precise. Friday 29th of November. He'd stayed home since he was feeling a little 'under the weather'. At least that's what he'd said.

God, it was going to be a bad day. He could feel it. Untangling himself from his nest of blankets and pillows, Peter pulled on his gloves and mask to join his suit.

'Hey girl, what ya got for me?' Karen brought up a map, pinpointing all the places his spider tracker had stopped until she got to the final location. Presumably the green goblins hide out.

_"Most of the places he stopped at were Osborn owned buildings."_

'So he's an employee using his job to get materials.' Jumping out of his window and swinging to the nearest location, Peter went to investigate. 

-

It was harder than one would expect, finding the Green Goblin. All of the locations were in fact Osborn owned (not that he doubted Karen) but most of them were, well, just that. Buildings. Nothing suspicious. Just people working. No basement or anything just, locations.

The last one though, well the last on was definitely a secret lair. Well, not really. It was just a factory where they manufactured their products but that's the point! Manufacture.

So, like an intellectual, Peter snuck inside in full costume, on the ceiling, sending droney to disable the cameras. He really loved his mini spider. 

There was chattering on the other side of a door, so he positioned himself there and listened. 

_"That little Spider menace is becoming a problem. I found a tracker on the board, sir. You should stop playing with him."_

_"It's fine. That spiderling isn't a problem. Should the need arise I'll properly take care of him."_

_"But sir-"_

_"End of discussion. I didn't come here to discuss an insect, I came here to talk about updates."_

_"You're body can't handle so many within such a small space of time."_

_"Which is the problem Wayne. I can't handle it. Everytime I fight I get weaker. My body is fighting it. That. Can't. Happen."_

_"It seems, the more you use it, the more immune your body becomes to the effects. The more it fights. The stronger the body gets. Sir, you won't be able to use this as a boost at the rate you're going."_

_"Exactly. Fix it."_

_"I can't fix it. It can't be fixed. It's natural evolution."_

_"Fix. It. Or you're fired."_

_"Sir-"_

_"Goodbye Wayne."_ Peter panicked and found himself crouched against the ceiling, breathing laboured as he hide in a corner. An angry Norman Osborn stormed out of the room and for a second, Peter couldn't breathe.

He couldn't have heard right, couldn't have seen right. It didn't-it didn't make sense. It must've been a lie. It had to be. He had to-he had to ask-he couldn't-

He trailed after Norman, dropping down when they were in some privacy. 

'Mr. Osborn?' And fuck he turned around and it really was him. All high cheekbones and slicked back hair. 

"Spiderman." He said menacingly and that wasn't right that didn't make sense, he only looked and talked to Peter with love and-and care. This was, this was hatred. 

"What are you doing here?"

'Are you Green Goblin?' He didn't mean to blurt it out, but his brain was failing and his palms were sweating cause this wasn't right. He saw Norman tense, watched the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed into a glare. 

"Why do you ask?" 

'I was listening. To-to the conversation inside with..with Wayne.' Norman scowled, his hands fidgeting with something in his pocket.

"And what do you plan to do with that information?" He didn't know. He didn't know. What was he supposed to do?

'I don't...I have to...what you're doing is wrong. You're hurting people.' He felt bad for hoping Norman didn't know, for hoping he couldn't tell he was hurting people.

It was selfish of him, but he needed something good to stay good. He'd already lost Ben, already lost Liz and May. He was certain he'd lose Gwen and Harry. He needed-he needed something to stick.

"...Someone always gets hurt."

'Mr-Norman please. Why-why are you doing this?'

"...Who are you?"

'I...can't tell you.'

"I'll ask again. What will you do with this information?" 

'I'll....I'll have to report you.'

"That would be a mistake. I'm a very powerful man."

'You belong behind bars for what you've done.' Norman sighed, as though he was teaching an infant who wasn't understanding.

"I don't like killing. Irks me the wrong way." Peter grit his teeth, his jaw clenching.

'It should.'

"But I have to do what I have to do." Peter was shocked. Shocked still. He couldn't mean that. He didn't mean that. How could he-he was Peter. He was his Peter! Peter Peter pumpkin eater. The catipillar. Catipillar!

Before he knew it there was a mechanical woosh increasing in volume. He turned around, Norman running away when his eyes were off him, and stared at the hoverbaord charging straight for him, blade first.

Peter was tempted to just stand there, to let the blade slice him in half and reunite him with his family, but he couldn't. People counted on Spiderman. People needed Spiderman. And Spiderman couldn't let them down because Peter Parker was selfish.

Last minute, more instinct than thought, Spiderman jumped into the air, barely avoiding cutting himself, and landed in a crouch. The hover board stopped abruptly and spun around till it faced him, the engine revving as it pursued him again.

'Karen a little help?'

 _"Of course Peter._ " She then proceeded to scan the hover board and explain how it works whilst dispatching droney to go find Norman.

_"It's on remote control it seems. It uses heat signatures to track you down without instructions on where you are."_

'So I just have to confuse it. Is there a boiler room or anything?' Karen pulled up a map of the factory, zooming on the multiple boiler rooms and pinpointing the nearest one. Spiderman ran to the nearest one, his spidey sense saving his ass whenever the hover board got too close.

He ran into a boiler room, crouching behind one of the machines as the hover board flew in, before running out and shutting the door.

'Droney?' Karen brought up Droney's camera and his location, directing Peter so he could find it. He ran until he caught sight of droney then climbed onto the ceiling, quietly trailing after Norman. When a corner came up he dropped down, startling Norman and webbing him to the wall. 

'Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting innocent people?' 

"How innocent do you truly think they are? What do you consider innocent? Look at me! Why do you think I'm doing this?" 

'It doesn't matter what I think, what matters is what you know.' 

"Tsk tsk tsk. Poor spiderman. Left in the dark. Left behind."

'You-you don't know me.' And he was right. Norman didn't know him. He knew Peter, orphan, nerdy depressed kid. But he didn't know Spider-man. Didn't know the eccentric and confident man in the mask. And Spiderman didn't get left behind. Not anymore.

He webbed Norman's mouth closed, his heart clenching with each precaution he had to take. With each action that made Norman more like a criminal and less like a father. 

Muffled laughter brought him out of his thoughts, his eyes settling on Norman's hand where a mini remote lay. Then his ears perked up to the sound of mechanical whirring. Fuck.

He jumped up, flipping over the hoverboard and landing, back to Norman. He spun around as quickly as he jumped, his heart stopping in his chest at the sight before him. 

His breath left him in a shaky exhale as his eyes started to water, blurring his vision. 

'N-' He was hyperventilating, desperately blinking back his tears as he shook his head. 

'You ca-Nor-' He gasped, pulling his mask up and over his nose so he could breathe easier. He wobbled to Norman, desperately trying to pull the hoverbaord out of him. 

'You can't-I can't-I'm sorry I'm sorryI'm-' He broke off on a sob, loud and cracked, as he tried any-everything he could. Whatever he could think of. He couldn't lose Norman. Couldn't be the cause of another death. He couldn't. 

-

He was hiding on the roof of the factory, an anxiety attack making his thoughts blurry and the pain dull. Karen kept trying to calm him down, gave him instructions on how to breathe, what to think about but he couldn't-for once-he couldn't hear anything. Couldn't hear the police sirens or the factory alarm. 

He looked down at his gloves, stained red with blood. It was wrong. The only blood Spiderman ever spilt was his own it shouldn't-he shouldn't. Fuck. Fuck. 

'Peter I need you to calm down or I'll be forced to call an ambulance.' The words were blurred. Everything was blurred. 

"I can't-I have to turn myself in-I have to-" He was up before he knew it, trying to climb down the building but slipping and falling. He let the air rush past him, the familiar feeling calming him somewhat.

But then the floor became more clear and his senses kicked in, his body turning around and shooting a web. He landed roughly on the pavement but at least he hadn't died. 

"Spiderman!" Someone yelled. He rolled onto his knees, panting heavily and pulling his mask down the full way, his breathing laboured and shallow. 

'I did it-It was me.' 

"What are you talking abo-?" 

'I killed Norman Osborne.' The police officer stood in shock before calling some of his buddies over and handcuffing Spiderman. 

-

It was cold. He was cold, but it was a different cold from when Aunt May died. That cold, that was an empty sort of chill. This, this was worse. This was all consuming. This caused him to have a consistent tremble, made everything else seem hot, unbearably so. Made his mask feel more stuffy than usual.

He was tempted to take off the mask. What did he have to lose anyway? Might as well just throw it all away, own up to his crime as Peter Parker rather than hiding behind the Spiderman persona. 

He was alone. It seemed as though he was always alone. The police had deposited him in an interrogation room and then left. He was itching to pull off his mask and breathe properly, it hung to remove the weight from his shoulders and just end.

But he couldn't. Couldn't even if he was going to. His hand were handcuffed to eachother, the chain held under a loop on the table. 

He let his head fall to the table, a sigh escaping his patched lips. God, he felt horrible. He probably looked horrible as well. 

'Excuse me,' He muttered, raising his head to look at the mirror, 'can I get a glass of water?' He tilted his head, squinting to see through the glass but ultimately failing.

He didn't want to call on Karen and lose the advantage he had, but he was starting to get irritated. Just when he was settling to the fact he'd been forgotten, a detective walked into the room with a cup of water.

He sat and rested the cup...right of out Peter's reach. He groaned, smacking his head against the table and leaving it there. 

"Spider-man, correct?" He nodded minutely, unable to find the strength or the motivation to hold his head up. The officer took a deep inhale, shifting slightly, the sound deafening to Peter. 

"Do you confess to the murder of Norman Osborn?" God, his voice was gruff and loud and demanding and it hurt. Peter grimaced, his eyes twitching behind his mask.

'....yes.' He murmured, his voice muffled by the mask.

"Why?"

'I....it was an accident.'

"How does an accident like that happen? What were you doing on private property?" Peter's too tired. Too drained to handle more than one question.

'Investigating.'

"You need to work with me here Spiderman. What were you investigating?"

'....Norman Osborn.'

"Why?"

'Is this an interrogation? Am I going to jail? Can I-do I have to-ugh.'

"Spider-"

'You ever notice how.....how echoey this room is? I can barely hear what's going on outside over my own voice.'

"You aren't supposed to hear what goes on outside." Peter's hum was non-committal, his eyes drooping as he breathed shallow breaths.

"Spiderman I need you to cooperate with me. Spiderman. Spiderman?" Peter was drifting, his senses dulling to the point where everything seemed underwater.

He was barely aware of the policeman leaving and even more unaware of the commotion happening right by the door.

"Let me-LET ME SEE HIM GODDAMNIT!" Before he knew it someone else was sitting across from him and drinking his water. God, his mouth was so dry.

They looked frazzled, their clothing rumfled and hair messy. As for their face it was tear streaked and-Peter knew that face. Peter knew that voice. His head shot up, getting dizzy from how fast he sat up.

'Harry?'

"Did you kill him? Did you kill my father?" His voice was shaky and laced with venom.

Briefly, Peter thought how much he sounded like his dad when he was angry. The thought hurt much more than he expected. 

'I-' What did he say? This was his best friend. He couldn't-he couldn't-but he also couldn't lie.

'Yes.' He sagged as he admitted it, as he mentally added another life, or rather death, to his conscience.

"You fucking-" Harry reached over and slammed his head into the desk, breaking his nose and making everything black for a dizzying second.

When he was able to focus on his environment the police were pulling Harry out the room as he struggled and screamed.

"Let me see his face! Let me see his fucking face!" As he passed his grabbed onto Peter's mask and pulled it off, grabbing onto his hair and pulling his head back.

"Who are you! Let me see your fucking face!" And so Peter did, he tilted his head to the side, showing off his blood, tear and sweat stained face, much to Harry's disbelief and disgust.

'Peter?'

-

Peter's trial took forever. A lot of back and forth. The jury couldn't decide whether they hated the vigilante or whether they loved him. They also didn't want to put a kid in jail, but being a mutant that killed a really rich and loved guy seemed to triumph everything else. So yes, he was going to jail, although his sentence was incomplete. 

At this point, Harry decided how long Peter stayed in prison and he was very conflicted with loving Peter and hating Spiderman. So his time in prison was undecided. Which was cool except for the crippling anxiety it gave him.

So he was going to prison, but not just any prison. No, that wouldn't be fair, he was going to a special prison for mutants. M.A.X. is what the called it.

He couldn't remember what the acronym meant but he knew M stood for Mutant; and that most people either died in that prison or just-died.

It was a well known and well populated prison with some of people's favourite heroes like Cyclops and The Hulk and some of the worst villains like Juggernaut and Mystique. And Peter-Puny Parker Little Spider-Parker was going there. Fuck. 


	2. Part 1: Ride and Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter adjusts. Also Wade. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for non-con and hateful name calling and reference to self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akekekeke. Follow me on [Tumblr](http://nobodiisstuff.tumblr.com/) pls  
> maybe.

Peter hated the prison uniform. Not because they were ugly, no, because they were revealing. All short sleeves and short pants.

He understood why of course. They didn't want the prisoners to be able to hide anything, still though. It left all his skin in plain sight. Or rather all his scars. All the scars on his wrists and arms and thighs.

He didn't like the long glances people sent to him or the way they would blatantly stare at his scars until he hid them. It made him uncomfortable. Made him ashamed.

He'd never told anyone he cut, but now a bunch of strangers who hated him knew.

So upon his identity being revealed and broadcasted on national television, people now also knew about his terrible coping mechanisms. Fuck.

Nobody had approached him about them yet but it was bound to happen.

Not to mention the tightness. He assumed it was for the same reason; so they could tell when something was being hidden in the uniform. Still, it left nothing to the imagination. Hugged the curve of his ass, the fat of his thighs, the flat of his abs and the muscles in his back.

It encouraged the comments and names sent to him, encouraged all the glances and signs sent his way, honestly, he was surprised he was still in one piece physically. 

He also hated the prison. They'd put this heavy collar on his neck that deactivated his powers. So while his senses weren't at an eleven, the place still stunk horridly. And the lights, God the light hurt his eyes. Not to mention the complete lack of privacy.

The cells were made some form of plastic, or maybe just really hard glass, either way it was see-through and any and all guards had clearance to it.

They just had to swipe a card and boom, cell unlocked, live your life. There was only one toilet that was metal and cold and had no lid and very limited toilet paper. His roommate was cool though.

Everyone else was not. Most of the prisoners and some of the guards leered at him calling him nicknames like 'New meat' and 'Fresh ass'.

At the very least the prisoners were unaware of his hero persona. The gaurds however knew and created other nicknames with it. Such as 'SpiderTwink'.

It was degrading to say the least. Sometimes the gaurds would purposefully poke his ass with their gun and he couldn't do shit about it.

But while the guards were free to do what they wanted, the prisoners backed off. And you wouldn't guess why. His roommate is actually the one, the only, Charles Xavier.

And Charles Xavier hung out with the one, the only, the dangerous, Wolverine. And Peter hung out with Charles who hung out with Wolverine so Peter was safe. For now.

Besides that, not having his powers was....disorienting. He urged to hang upside down or swing around but he couldn't. He literally couldn't. The closest he could get to the feeling was hanging upside down on his bed and swaying.

He missed his super strength and his spidery senses and literally all his powers. They made him stronger, but now he was back to that defenseless kid who's best party trick was knowing how to take a beating.

He hated it. And he hated the damn bed. It was metal and only had a thin mattress and even thinner cover. It was extremely uncomfortable and had Peter tossing and turning.

'Mr Xavier?'

"You can call me Charles, Peter."

'I know...how'd you get used to...ya know prison? And the no visitors policy?'

"To be honest with you...I haven't. But I go through life one day at a time. And you make new friends in prison."

'....Am I a friend?'

"Yes Peter, you are a friend." Peter hummed, turning to face at Charles who was, as usual, laying on his back.

'Why are you here?'

"Same as you. People hate mutants. They hate what they don't know, hate what they can't fight."

'I hate it here.'

"I would be worried if you didn't." The conversation died after that, Peter still not able to sleep. He thought he was an insomniac before but nothing could compare to him now.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a full night of sleep. He couldn't remember alot of things.

-

Logan grunted, flexing his arm muscles as his scowl deepened.

"You're eating less, Parker."

'I'm not very hungry.'

"I don't give a shit. The food is little and crappy I'm sure you can stomach some more."

'I said I'm not very hungry.'

"And I said I don't give a shit." Peter looked up at Logan from his seat, his face blank and gaze empty, meeting Logan's glare head on.

Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead and easing the furrow in his brow.

"Logan-"

"No, Charles, he looks like a fucking stick."

'I'd rather be a stick than eat this.' Peter muttered. 

"Excuse me?"

'I said, I'd rather be a stick than eat this.'

"Listen here you piece of shit, you're gonna eat that tray clean and keep that mouth shut."

'Can't really eat with a closed mouth.' Logan snarled, his hands squeezing the spork in his hand till it broke. Charles heaved a tired, _'Boys.'_ making Peter shrink into himself.

'Sorry.' He muttered, spooning more eggs into his mouth with his eyes downcast.

"Listen Peter, I know it's hard on you and I know you're struggling but Logan's right. You have to keep strong for the people waiting on you outside." Peter grunted, acknowledging that Charles was right, even if he'd never get out. Even if he never saw Harry. 

-

There was this one guard, Jackson, that was just-just terrible. Couldn't keep his hands off him. Couldn't keep his eyes off him.

Every word Jackson told Peter made him feel dirty, made him feel tainted. He hated it. Hated the nicknames he'd given him. Hated how he watched Peter through his cell wall, how he licked his lips and trailed his eyes over his body, but he couldn't do anything about it. He just had to sit there and take it.

It was like being in Freshman year again, being powerless. Getting beat everyday of his life and only being able to curl into a ball and wait it out.

He wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough. Aunt May had always said God would provide. God would take care of him, but he had yet to see 'God' and His mercy. He must not be worth it. Must not be good enough for God and His care.

He'd always avoided eye contact with the guard, avoided any kind of contact with him, really. Although, the guard made it hard and Peter couldn't hide behind Mr. Xavier and Logan forever, no matter how much he wanted to.

Logan had suggested he make other friends, climb the pyramid of power and befriend a king, but that would require talking and Peter was not doing that. Especially when everyone he saw seemed to either leer at him or judge him.

'Who would you recommend?' Peter had asked. Logan hummed, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms.

"Either Banner or Hank, although I can't imagine you'd find them any fun." Peter nodded, although he had cringed inwardly.

He was already losing whatever confidence he had in the plan.

'Mr. Xavier?'

'Mr. Xavier? You're probably asleep. Sorry.' Peter stayed there in his silence, listening to Mr. Xavier's heavy breaths and trying to ignore the pair of eyes he could feel on him.

He was succeeding, imagining his aunt hugging him as his uncle swept his hair out of his face and muttered to May. It worked, almost too well, and soon Peter was asleep. Deeply.

-

Finally, Tom thought with a roll of his eyes. It was like the Spider boy never slept. He waited a bit, making sure the boy settled into his sleep before opening the cell. His partner sent him a questioning glance but he just silenced her as he sneaked inside.

He moved passed the cripple's bed. The old man couldn't stop him if he tried. Too old, too broken. He snickered at the mere thought of the old man flailing and struggling.

He was just passing the bed when fingers wrapped around his wrist and held fast.

"What're you doing?"

"Shut up and go to sleep cripple."

"It isn't time yet."

"I decide your schedule now get your hands off me before you lose more than your ability to walk."

"You can't do this." The cripple started to sit up but Tom held him down with a hand to the chest.

"You fucking mutants thinking you can do what you want. I'm in charge."

"That hardly matters when-" Tom pulled his pillow out from under him and held it over his face, holding the older male down with his free hand and knees.

The mutant struggled and writhed under Tom, clawing desperately at his wrists.

"Not so powerful without your powers are ya?" Tom sneered, his smirk malicious as the life slowly drained out of the old man. He glanced back at his partner, still stationed outside the cell.

She was dutifully facing away, jaw clenched as she ignored what was happening inside. If she weren't such a fucking dyke he'd probably give her the time of her life.

Moving on from the limp body under him, Tom made his way to the twink laying unconscious on his bed.

"Time to get what I came here for."

-

Peter didn't always sleep well. Not after Uncle Ben. It was hard to fall asleep and stay asleep. He was easily woken up by sounds or flashing lights, even before he got his powers. So it was no surprise that after what felt like minutes of sleep he was surfacing again. He made to stretch, but something was hold his arm down, and his other arm. And something was on him.

He squinted into the darkness, a shadowy finger above him.

'Mr. Xavier?' No, that didn't make sense.

"Much better." The man growled, a sneering grin plastered on his face. It was the guard. Jackson. 

Fuck. Peter started struggling, twisting his wrists in their hold and kicking his legs. Guard Jackson leaned down, closer to Peter's face than socially acceptable and tightened his grip.

"Now now, don't do something you'll regret." Peter bit his lip, staring defyingly at the guard until he had to flick his eyes down. Eye contact was odd, it was something he could never maintain.

He didn't know if it was because of the bullying, maybe it was him trying to hide his Spiderman persona. He'd read up on it when he was bored but identified with too many of the suggestions.

The guard was breathing on his face, moving closer until he could lick Peter's lips. Peter jumped back, trying to put distance between them but only succeeding in dislodging his pillow.

"Stay still you fucking slut." Peter cringed, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping for something, for anything. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this.

Jackson's touch was slimy and hot. Too hot. It stuck to him, pulled sweat from his pores, made his cuts tingle, made them itch. He wiggled his body, trying to get the larger male off.

"I said stay still before I do you away like that old fucking man." At that Peter tried to see over or around the guard, straining his neck to get a good look at Mr. Xavier.

He felt something hard pressing into his stomach and realised absently that the man was grinding his erection into him. He shivered in disgust, trying in vain to get away.

'Stop! Let go of me. Pleeasse!' He knocked his head back, trying to look at the guard outside his cell.

'Please.' She did nothing, didn't even twitch. He sobbed, knowing that he couldn't overpower the larger male but trying so hard to.

"Yeah, take it like that faggot you are."

'Get off me get off me get offmegetoffmegetoffmegetoffme-'

"Shut up!" The guard was close to his face again, nostrils flaring. Without much thought, Peter headbutt him. And then headbutt him again. And again, until both men were dizzy and his grip loosened.

Peter slipped out from under the guard, stumbling over to Charles and removing the pillow.

He checked for a pulse, for breath, for anything that could prove life, but before he could finish, a hand wrapped around his throat and pulled him back.

He choked and spluttered, clawing desperately at the hand. He kicked his legs out, looking to find purchase on something-anything.

His toes held onto the edge of Charles' bed and after a few tries, he kicked up, flipping over the guard and throwing him onto his back. He panted, fear-fueled adrenaline the only thing keeping him standing.

He laid on the wall, resting and gathering his voice. He was gonna scream, got the will and the breath, but Jackson covered his mouth and punched him in the stomach, knocking the air out of him.

And then punched him again. And again. He dragged him to the floor and continuously banged Peter's head into it until there was a satisfying crack.

Peter gurgled, blood spilling past his lips, twisting his body and trying to crawl away, blood staining his face and hair.

"Come back ya fucking bitch." Jackson grabbed him by the hair, the pain causing Peter to scream out. Using the moment, he continued.

'Help! Help me! Please!' He sobbed loudly, his body giving up and losing its tension.

'Please help.' He whispered. Everything from then on was a blur. Everything just merged together. The coldness of the air on his bare skin, the fear of the unknown, the anger and pain that came with losing something not given, the apprehension.

He felt it, felt something dull and moist press at his back, at his thigh and then finally, his ass. And for a long while that's how it was. Still, blank. Then he was waking up in a metal bed with an IV in his arm.

-

He had a concussion. It was mild, would heal within a few days once properly taken care of but they wouldn't take off the collar to let him heal.

They hadn't given him a report of all his injuries, just told him he had to be on bed rest cause of _'some kind of con-concyusion? Concouson?'_. Yeah, their health care wasn't the best, but that wasn't the point.

No, the point was Peter's worst injury was a concussion, while Mr. Xavier's worst injury was..well death.

It was Peter's fault. The whole attack was because of Peter, him and his-his slutty, body and of course, Xavier was the one to lose his life. It was always the people around Peter getting hurt, always the innocent ones. It wasn't fair. 

It wasn't fair.

Not to mention his virginity was in tact. Apparently, the female guard on shift had called for backup and stopped Jackson, even if it did take 20 minutes for her moral compass to kick in.

Jackson was on suspension. Not fired, not removed from that line of work, not prison. Just suspended. He was practically a rapist, and all he got was suspension. Hell, maybe he was a rapist. Maybe Peter wasn't his first victim.

Peter's so out of it he startles when a nurse pulls back his divider curtain, a guard standing close behind him. Or maybe it's because he didn't have his powers. God, he feels unbalanced without them. Or maybe it's the concussion.

He doesn't see why the nurse needs a guard. Not only is Peter twiggy and powerless without his..well his powers, but the nurse is well built, muscles showing through his uniform in a way that's almost inappropriate.

If his particular situation was different he probably would've popped a boner, but as it stands, he just sluggishly takes in their forms before making eye contact and then instantly regretting it.

Eye contact is confrontation and Peter despises confrontation. Odd for a superhero, but Peter Parker and Spiderman were two very different people. Or at least they were supposed to be.

Before Peter could stumble out a greeting (he was raised with manners dammit) the nurse made a signal to the guard behind him and started.

"Mr. Parker we'll be taking you to the dining room. You've been assigned a new roommate. Don't do anything to aggravate your concussion."

Well, the nurse wasn't necessarily nice but he was civil and that went a long way where he was.

Peter nodded. He didn't know what could aggravate his concussion or who his roommate was, but he'd have to find out eventually. 

He'd expected a wheelchair, but when did he ever get what he expected? The guard undid his restraints (protocol they had said) and pulled Peter upright with his arm, pulling him further off the bed and handcuffing him. With his hands safely restrained behind his back, the guard started pushing him forward. 

They were taking him to the dining hall because it was, apparently, breakfast.

Rubbing his sore wrists, Peter got his breakfast and sat down at a random table. He couldn't find Logan so that left him alone. He didn't mind being alone, sometimes it was comforting being in his own space at his own time, but in a place like this and with all his raging thoughts, Peter would much prefer a distraction.

"Well hello there." A different distraction. Peter clenched his jaw, studiously focusing on his food.

"Where've you been boy? We be missing you." Leavehimaloneleavehimaloneleavehimaloneleavehimalone. He felt a hand lace through his hair and tug, panic rising suddenly. Nonononono they were gonna-they were gonna-

"I asked you a question." Peter didn't know what to do. His panic was fogging his thought and blurring his eyes. His head-he-

'Please.' Peter whispered, wrapping his fingers around the man's wrist.

"That's right. Beg like a bitch." Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. This would be a good time to burst out in song. _'I need a hero'._

'Please. Please please please.' The man and his friends laughed loudly, and though Peter couldn't see them he could imagine the sneer the all had.

"Good little whore. You gonna be a good boy and help us pass some time?" He didn't want to. He just wanted to go home. He missed Aunt May. He missed Uncle Ben. He missed Norman. He missed Harry. He missed home.

-

"Parker! Where have you been?" Logan asked angrily. Peter hung his head, staring at the man's feet. He couldn't look him in the eye. Not after what happened to Charles. Not after what he did to Charles.

'Busy.' Peter muttered under his breath. It was a lame excuse. Everything in the prison was scheduled and it wasn't like they had any extra activities.

Logan huffed, displeased with his answer.

"Whatever. Come here." He would rather not but he couldn't just say that. So he followed Logan across the courtyard, head down the whole way.

He was scratching his scars again, digging his bitten nails into them to try and feel something. They itched. They always itched.

"Banner." Logan barked from infront him.

"Logan. What brings you here?"

"I have a brat." At that Peter stepped to the side, making himself visible. Mr. Banner was silent for a long while, probably examining Peter, before he cleared his throat.

"Okay. And?" Logan grunted, folding his arms across his chest.

"He needs friends." Mr. Banner was silent, but somewhere in the midst of his silence, Logan must've gotten an affirmative if the way he left was any indication.

"Hi. I'm Bruce." Bruce. Banner. Banner. Bruce. Bruce Banner. Dr. Bruce Banner.

'As in..The Bruce Banner? Dr. Bruce Banner?' Peter couldn't help it, he looked up, confirming his suspicion that yes, this was The Bruce Banner.

"Ah...yes." Shit.

'Shit. I-' Don't deserve this. He didn't deserve this. Remember Parker. Remember who's six feet under because of you. Letting his shoulders sag and his face relax, Peter nodded.

'I'm Peter.' Just Peter. He didn't deserve to carry the Parker name. He didn't deserve anything.

-

Peter absolutely adores Dr. Banner. The man is kind and funny and so, so smart. The articles about him really do no justice. He welcomes Peter, keeps him company for the day, listens to him, encourages him, answers his questions, entertains his dumb theories.

He's so awesome, which is why Peter doesn't understand why he was arrested. Even after Bruce explained it five times, Peter still didn't understand. Bruce didn't deserve a life of imprisonment, and neither did the Hulk.

'So you could break out if you wanted to?'

"Not really. The Hulk is a mutation, it's just...its more than physical..." Bruce trails off, a thinking look on his face. "How do I...? The Hulk has been within me since birth-" What? "-but the uh the accident helped give him shape. So he's still a very present..presence in my head he just..he can't take form because of the collar."

'So you can...you can hear him? In your head?'

"Not really. It's more like..I can feel him. Feel his anger or his pain. It's-I can feel his emotions secondhand."

'Okay...but how does the collar keep him at bay? I mean sure, he's technically a mutation but it's also a result of gamma radiation. Radiation. So..how exactly does the collar stop all kinds of mutation?'

"Well I can't be sure but my assumption is the prison is given prior notice and can then adjust the collar to suit." Peter hummed thinking about it.

It's a lot of work but it makes sense. Mutants are a touchy subject, especially the powerful and uncontrolled ones. So of course a lot of care would go into their matters.

'I don't understand. Why are you here? You weren't the only one to not sign the Accords. And plus, you were off world for some time. Isn't that an excuse?'

"My case is more sensitive. Thor is a literal God, and while he is inhabiting earth now, he still doesn't fall under their laws. It's...complicated. The others are on the run and have been for a while. They also weren't already on the Government's bad side."

'But the Hulk is a hero.'

"Not...not to everyone." They sat in silence for a while, Bruce returning to his book while Peter looked at a wall and thought. It was unfair. The whole world is unfair.

'Why hasn't Mr. Stark helped?' Bruce looks up at that, looking at Peter with an odd look in his eyes and a sad smile on his lips, although that just seems to be Bruce's smile.

"I don't think he can. Between the Accords and the security of this place...I don't think he can." God, if that was the case, Peter was hopeless.

Peter nodded numbly, a deep sigh exiting through his nose. Their silence was comfortable, but Bruce was the one to break it this time.

"He talked alot about you during the I between period. Has high hopes for you." That was a lot to process in one sentence. First, Mr. Stark talked about him. Mr. Stark liked him enough to talk about him. To Bruce Banner. Wow. Second, he had high hopes. He had high hopes for Peter Parker. Wow. Third, Bruce knew Peter was Spider-man. Knew the whole time. Wow. 

Looking down at the scars on his arms, Peter doesn't let himself dream.

'Had.' He reminds Bruce. Peter's in prison. His identity's been revealed. Even if he was released, even if he got to go home, he still wouldn't have a life as Spider-man or Peter Parker. He has no family, probably lost all his friends. He's alone.

"I know what I said." Bruce said matter of fact, returning to his book, the duo once again settling into a comfortable silence.

'Thank you.' Peter whispered, the hint of a smile on his face. Bruce didn't respond, but Peter knew he got it.

-

Peter ended up eating with Dr. Banner. Logan was nowhere to be found, again. Eating with Bruce was probably how Mr. Xavier felt watching Peter eat. Probably how Aunt May felt. Probably how Mr. Osborn felt.

The man ate so little that Peter wondered where his chub came from. The two of them eating together was like the blind leading the blind.

_'Eat more.'_

_'No you eat more.'_

_'Not until you eat more.'_

_'Not until you eat more.'_

They were at a stale mate. Or at least they were, until Bruce picked up his spork with a frown. Peter smirked triumphantly, following suit and eating more.

-

'Do you miss them? The Avengers?'

"Always."

-

Always, he had said. He knew the Avengers were friends, but always? That must've been terrible. A constant, non-stop yearning for something you can't have, something you believe you don't deserve.

Did Peter miss his loved ones? Of course he did, but not always. He only missed them when he thought of them, which he avoided doing valiantly.

Maybe Bruce and Peter coped differently. Maybe Bruce thought about what he had had instead of what he no longer does. What was it like? Was it dull? Just an underlying feeling? Was it all consuming? Did his yearning bring him to his knees?

Whenever Peter thought about them, it was an intense sharp pain. It clouded his vision, clogged his throat. He couldn't breathe, couldn't stand, couldn't see. It hurt. Worse than a stab wound, worse than a bullet. He couldn't function. Not in that state.

Even thinking about it-Peter shut that thought process down. He couldn't fall apart. Not now. Not infront of company. Fuck. The day was going so well. He couldn't think about them. He could not.

Benjamin Parker.

George Stacy. 

May Parker.

Norman Osborn.

Charles Xavier.

Peter thought back to how Harry had looked in the interrogation room, thought back to the recognition in his eyes, to the betrayal and the sorrow.

Harry Osborn.

Sure, he was still breathing, but he wasn't alive. Not anymore. He was useless as a superhero. He couldn't save anyone. Couldn't help anyone.

He wasn't breathing. Good. Better people deserved the oxygen. Good people. Was Peter good? He used to think he was. He tried to be. Was he good? Was he good? Was he good? _Am I good?_

Peter took a shaky breath, urging the panic, urging the grief away. He dug his nails into his scars, scratching at them, pushing the bitten nails as deep as they'd go.

Focus on the pain. Focus on the scars. Maybe he should do a tally. Every life he's destroyed equals another cut. No. No. Their lives meant- _means_ -more than a measly scar. He has to do more. More more more-

"Peter?" Dr. Banner. Right. Dr. Banner. Relaxing his grip on his arms, Peter forced his body to presume a relaxed posture.

'Sorry.' Sorry.

-

Dinner was...awkward. Logan was there, though he looked like shit. And angry. He always looked angry, although perhaps he had more reason than before.

Bruce was quiet, he seemed to tense up in Logan's company. Maybe it was Logan, maybe it was something else. Bruce seemed like a complicated man with a lot of layers. A lot of trauma. Well, seemed is an understatement. He was. Peter read the doctor's file. Ouch.

Logan grunted, glaring at Peter's plate. God, the air was tense. Bruce was eating even less, if possible. In fact, he didn't even eat yet. He's been staring at the same page in his book for some time, but Logan didn't seem to notice or care about Bruce. Peter did.

Forcing another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, Peter looked down at the table. Logan grunted, again, a groan following soon after before he stood.

"Banner. With me." Bruce got up, sighing as he followed Logan. They didn't stray too far from the table, but Logan made sure Peter couldn't hear their whispered words. He wondered what they were saying.

He missed his enhanced senses, everything seemed dull without them. Muted and blurry, literally blurry. It was like puberty all over again. A lot of adjusting. He needed glasses again, couldn't catch anything to save his life. 

Logan was clenching and relaxing his fists at his side, his eyebrows drawn together while Bruce wrung his fingers, looking like he wanted to sink into the earth.

What could they be talking about? Obviously Logan was upset about something but what? And why argue with Dr. Banner about it? He was also a prisoner. He had no control over what happened in the prison.

No control. Wasn't that a terrifying thought? Did Peter have no control? Did Peter ever have control? He was almost 18, if he ever got out of the prison would he have no control? Would he have too much? What was control?

What-a whistle screeched, signalling the end of Dinner. The end of Dinner was also Bedtime. Peter didn't want to go back to that room, to those beds. He felt nauseous just thinking about it. Hold it hold it hold it hold it-

Peter threw up.

-

Peter stumbled into his room, trying to catch his balance after being shoved. He hated the room. Hated it so much. Swallowing the bile now flooding his mouth, Peter sat down on the floor next to his bed, and curled up, hugging his knees to his chest.

He couldn't cry he couldn't cry he couldn't cry he was crying. A sob ripped itself out from his chest and Peter wanted nothing more than to stop existing.

His cheeks were soaked, snot dripping into his mouth as he hastily wiped at his face. He missed them. He missed them so much. It was like a void in his chest, like a black hole sucking everything into it until he was hollow. And that's how he felt. Hollow. Empty. Vaca-

"Shut up and get in."

"I'm just saying right, it makes absolutely no sense that that-"

"Shut the fuck up. I don't give a shit about your conspiracy theories."

"Yeah but-"

"Talk to your roommate about it." Peter wiped his face with his shirt, standing up and willing himself to look composed. Don't cry don't cry don't cry.

He watched as the guard undid the straight jacket-well watched is an exaggeration. More like he looked back and forth between his feet and the door. God he couldn't stand this room. Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry-

"Baby boy?" Baby boy? Who was-that was-

'Wade?' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahehehehe. My [Tumblr](http://nobodiisstuff.tumblr.com/) pls


	3. Part 2: Ride or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahh. SEMI-GRAPHIC descriptions of self-harm. Mentioned/Implied self-harm. Mentioned abuse. Implied non-con. Lots of pining. And graphic descriptions of self-hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back hoes. Did you miss me? Also follow me on [Tumblr](http://nobodiisstuff.tumblr.com/) please.
> 
> Please.

"Baby boy?"

'Wade?' No. No that didn't make sense. That couldn't be right. The concussion. Right. The concussion was aggravated and now Peter was delusion. It was just a hallucination. No big deal. Just pretend nothing was happening. He was hallucinating, but from when? From what point did he exit reality? Was the whole day a hallucination? Is he really still on that hospital bed, high on drugs and anesthetic?

"Pete is that you?" Fuck. Peter rushed to the toilet, dropping to his knees and throwing up again. The bile burned his throat and left a bitter taste on his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to wash his mouth out. Couldn't do anything more than rest his head against the toilet seat, really.

"Well you've never reacted that way before, although I guess with the whole cancer thing I am just a tad bit uglier....no....well....I mean I'm slimier." Peter waved his hand floppily at Wade, urging him to stop and come closer. Wade did neither.

"Shut up....fuck-baby? Honey? Spidey, dear?" Peter gurgled at Wade, watching with half lidded eyes as Wade descended to his knees next to him. He was tired. He was so so tired. He wanted nothing more than to rest his head against Wade's shoulder and rest.

Wade wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulder, using his hand to lift the smaller male's head off the seat while his other arm wandered under Peter's knees. With a grunt, Wade lifted Peter up, walking to the beds and depositing Peter on one.

He sat down next to him, massaging Peter's ankle while he stared blankly at one place. Listening to his voices, Peter's brain supplied. A soft smile graced Peter's lips; he really missed Wade. 

"You gonna tell me what that was about?" Peter grunted, rolling onto his bed until his back was to Wade. He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to have this conversation. Idly, he began scratching at his scars. Wade sighed quietly, rubbing his thumb into Peter's ankle ball.

"Why are you here? You..you're one of the good guys." There's a lot of things Peter could say to that. 'So is Bruce', 'Not anymore', 'Why are _you_ here?' but he chose silence. If this really was a hallucination he's not going to entertain it. And if it wasn't, if Wade is really here, then he'd deal with it in the morning.

"Pete come on." Wade pleaded, his voice cracking on the last word. It hurt, hearing Wade like that, but Peter was so tired. So drained, that he found his eyes closing on their own accord and his breathing evening. And distantly, he felt relief wash through him.

-

When Peter thought of reuniting with Wade in the morning, he thought it'd be something filled with tears and hugs and questions, he was not expecting the tense silence between them. Neither Wade nor Peter were ones for silence yet Peter couldn't find the right words to approach their situation, and Wade seemed to be in the same position.

Bruce, sweet, sweet Bruce, joined them for breakfast, a small smile breaking on his face at the sight of Peter. Or Wade. Or both of them.

"The good Doctor!" Wade exclaimed as he pulled Bruce into a hug, affectionately rubbing and patting his back. Bruce returned the hug, pulling back and smiling up at Wade.

"Welcome back." The doctor replied fondly, walking over to the table. Peter and Wade followed absently, though Peter noticed the smile on Wade's face. Perhaps he and Bruce were good friends?

Peter and Wade sat next to each other while Bruce sat across from them. Logan wasn't present and Peter couldn't tell if he was grateful or disappointed.

Peter poked aimlessly at his food, glancing at Wade from his peripheral. He knew Wade had questions, rightfully so, but Peter didn't want to answer them. Didn't even want to hear them. And maybe that was a little unfair since he still expected Wade to answer his questions, but it was different, right? Should he just not ask any questions? Just move on? Or should he just answer Wade's questions? Fuck.

He looked down, staring at their legs. They hadn't sat this far away from each other since they first met. Peter wasn't really a man of action but Wade was. Actions spoke louder than words. Gathering what little confidence he had, Peter forced his body to slide closer to Wade, pulling his tray along with him.

Wade looked at him, a small smile gracing his face. Gently, Peter knocked his knee against Wade's, returning Wade's smile with his own. Before he knew what was happening, Wade's face split into a grin and he threw an arm around Peter's shoulder, pulling the younger male into his side.

"Eat up little spider." He whispered teasingly, smirking at Peter before diving into his own food. Peter didn't realise how much he missed this, how much he missed Wade, until he found his body melting into Wade's side, trusting the man to hold him up as he stuffed his mouth with no complaint.

It was like the old days, laid out on Wade's couch and munching on Chinese food, binge watching a random Netflix series with Wade, the latter massaging Peter's ankle as he ranted absentmindedly. He missed those days. He missed Wade. He missed his freedom, and his suit and Karen and Harry and Norman and aunt May and Mr. Stark an-

Fuck. Don't cry don't cry don't cry. He hated it. Hated how imbalanced his hormones seemed to be. It was either everything he felt was infuriatingly numb or everything was overwhelming. There was no inbetween. He either felt too much or felt too little and it was pissing him off. He just wanted to be normal! Just wanted to be stable. Wanted to be home.

-

Wade pulled Peter aside when they walked into the courtyard and Peter swore he felt his anxiety pique. He couldn't make eye contact with Wade, he couldn't, didn't want to see the sadness and disappointment on his face. He scratched at the scars on his thighs, keeping his arm angled away from Wade so he couldn't see proof of Peter's weakness. Couldn't see what he'd succumbed to. What his failures had caused. What he had caused.

"Pe-"

'I killed someone.' Peter blurted before Wade could ask. He watched as Wade's body filled with tension, his fist clenching and his biceps flexing.

'It was an accident.' He continued. Now that he had started, he couldn't stop. 'He was trying to kill me and I had-I had jumped and he-' A sob interrupted him, one of his own he realised distantly. 'And now everyone knows my identity and I could be here for life and I didn't mean it and-' Wade pulled him against his chest, cradling the younger male in his arms and shushing him. Peter hadn't realised he started crying. Fuck. That was so embarrassing. Crying in front of your crush. Crying into your crush.

'I'm sorry!' Peter sobbed, wrapping his arms around Wade and hiding his face in his neck.

"I know. I know."

-

Peter didn't give Wade the whole story and Wade didn't ask. He also didn't bring it up again. Peter, however, did not follow Wade's example. He had a lot of questions, and rightfully so. Wade did just drop off the face of the earth. Usually, when he had a mission, Wade would tell Peter what he could.

'So you've been here this whole time?'

"Yep." Wade said, the word strained as he did his pull ups. "I was on a surprise mission. Wasn't supposed to take long. Still in the city ya know? Anyway I became one of the bad guys and was subdued." Peter thought about it, imagining what it must've been like.

'I'm sorry.'

"It's not your fault baby."

'I know but I should've-I should've looked harder.'

"You looked for me??" Wade squeaked in surprise, stopping his exercise and giving Peter his full attention.

'Of course I looked for you Wade. You're my friend.' Wade sighed dreamily, closing his eyes and slapping a hand to his chest.

"I can die happy now." Peter rolled his eyes, a small smile on his lips. Yeah, he missed Wade.

-

Everytime Peter closes his eyes, he sees them. He sees their bloodied corpse reaching for him. Begging him to save them. Peter never does. He runs and runs and runs, as fast as he can, as hard as he can, but he never saves them.

Sometimes, they're all standing in a circle, with him in the middle. Calling his name, shouting it, crying it, screaming it. A never ending cycle of _'Peter'_. He wants to apologise, to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but he can't. He always stands still in that circle, unmoving, unfeeling.

Other times, though few, its memories. Of when they were alive, of when they were happy. The day he'd gotten his first camera. The day they'd framed their favourite picture. The day he met Ned. The day he and Michelle kissed. The day he and Harry reunited. The day Wade returned from a long mission. Mundane things really, mundane things that had made his day. And then, those memories are compared to their parallels. To his worst days. The day Flash broke his camera. The day the house flooded and the frame broke. The day he ate lunch by himself. The day he broke it off with MJ. The day he yelled at Harry. The day Wade left.

Those dreams, Peter can say in absolute certain, are his worst nightmares. They keep him awake and shivering. For they have something the other dreams don't. A sense of reality. A sense of truth. And that scared him.

-

Peter didn't wake up from a nightmare screaming. He didn't shoot up and claw desperately at his chest. He didn't cry and yell.

When Peter woke up from a nightmare, he didn't think about his dream nor did he go back to sleep. He didn't stare at a ceiling, wishing for a better life. When Peter woke up from a nightmare, he fidgeted. He tried to distract himself. He kept himself busy, whether it was doodling, cutting, or since prison, pacing.

That way he could just focus on the physical. He didn't have to think about his feelings and his thoughts or how the scars were always so itchy or how he longed to feel the sweet release of pain and blood when the razor cut pass his skin or how Logan would stare at his scars when he didn't think Peter was looking or how Bruce had some of his own scars, recent, from the way they looked or how he keeps losing people or how Harry is and how he feels.

It's too much for him to handle. And the thoughts always race in simultaneously, overwhelming him and breaking him down. So he doesn't think. Doesn't process.

Peter doesn't intentionally evade sleep. He doesn't try to stay awake to avoid his dreams. Peter's mind can perfectly construct a nightmare even when he's awake. Peter can't sleep because the bed is cold, and his family is dead and he's lost his friends and he's in prison. He's in prison and he doesn't know for how long and he'll never be able to see the faces of the people he loves. 

He didn't go to Norman's funeral and he didn't go to Charles'. Peter doesn't sleep because while his body is exhausted, and he himself is drained, his brain keeps going and going and going as though afraid it won't be able to start back should it take a break. Peter can't sleep, because Peter doesn't deserve to.

-

Wade's having another coughing fit. They were just talking, sitting next to each other and sharing their warmth when Wade coughed. It was a small thing, a single one, as though he was just scratching his throat, but then he turned and leaned to the side and started coughing. It sounded...it sounded horrid. It sounded like he was coughing something up.

Peter didn't know what to do. He'd heard the coughs sprinkled through the day, seen the way Wade's lips were chapped and slightly bloody, but he'd assumed it was because of the isolation chamber he was in. But there were too many factors stating otherwise. His skin, for example, had a sliminess to it that it never had. It was as though all the scars became fresh again, became new. And they were worse, Peter had seen Wade's face hundreds of times, enough times to notice the improvement each week. He still had bad days, but overall the skin was healing. Not anymore.

At a loss for words, Peter just rubbed Wade's back soothingly, trying to calm the coughs from the outside. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Wade stopped coughing, but he remained hunched over, hiding himself away from Peter's gaze.

'Wade?'

"Just....gimme a sec babe." Wade muttered, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

'Okay.'

-

The next time Wade had a coughing fit, Bruce was there. Bruce was a doctor, Bruce knew what to do. Except Bruce did nothing more than slide Wade's water closer to him and rub his back much like Peter had done.

Peter stared, unseeing, as images of his Aunt flashed in place of Wade. He saw her, curled to the side on her hospital bed and coughing blood into a napkin until it was stained with her life.

Wade gulped down the water, swishing it in his mouth for a bit before swallowing. And then he smiled, and continued what he was saying as though nothing. Peter wanted to join in, to pretend that everything was fine, but he couldn't. He needed to know what was happening. He needed some semblance of control in his life.

'Wade.' He whispered, trying out his voice, too quiet for Wade to hear.

"I mean I could use some luck too ya know? I get it, she's black and a woman so it makes sense that life was like 'Well let's give her something' but-"

'Wade.' Wade stopped his rambling, looking at Peter with an unreadable expression on his face. Maybe apprehension.

"Baby boy?"

'Why....what's wrong?'

"Now or in general?"

'With you.'

"Eh....you gotta be more specific. Lots of things are wrong-"

'Are you sick?' Wade snorted, as though Peter had said something funny. Did he? Peter wasn't very certain of the things he said and did these days. When Peter continued to look confused and worried, Wade's smirk fell.

"Fuck."

What? What was wrong?

"Fuck."

-

Sometime during the conversation, Bruce left, leaving the two in their own world.

'What is it?'

"I'm sorry baby. I'm so sorry. I thought I-I thought you knew. I just assumed I-"

'Wade?' Peter pleaded, dragging the 'A' and pleading with Wade to end his suspense.

"Cancer. I have cancer."

Cancer. Cancer. Cancer. Cancercancercancercancer. He'd said it the same way she had. His words kept replaying in his head, overlapping with the same words said by her.

I have cancer.

I had cancer.

He has cancer.

She had cancer.

Cancer kills. Cancer kills. Cancer killed.

-

_"Mr. Parker I know you're worried but there's nothing we can do. The tumor's grown too large for removal. The most you can do is enjoy your last days with her." Those were the doctor's words. That was his only suggestion. His only solution. Wait for her to die. Wait to go into the system. Wait to be orphaned again. He didn't want that. He didn't want any of that._

_He couldn't stand the thought of living without her. Why did life keep taking away from him? How much more did they plan to take? Was he doing something wrong? Why?_

_"Mr. Parker?"_

_'How long do I...how long does she have?'_

_"If she takes the medication...a few months but...if not...I'm sorry for your loss." Peter sobbed, a retched, broken thing, grabbing the attention of nurses and patients as he fell to his knees and cried._

-

Peter was gonna throw up. Wade was saying something, but his words were blurred and muffled as Peter tried to get his bearings enough to speak. He swallowed the saliva forming in his mouth, the slide down his throat rough and painful.

'How long?' Peter asked, staring blankly at Wade, trying not to breakdown, not to fall apart this time. If he lost anymore he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep sailing.

"H-I....A few years..yeah. My healing factor kept it from being lethal." His healing factor! Of course. Okay. So then why was he coughing? Peter's eyes flit down to where the collar was wrapped around Wade's neck. Fuck. Peter had tons of questions. Where? How far along? How long did he have? Why didn't he tell Peter before? What now? Why is he so cool about it, but his throat was clogged and he couldn't get any of the questions out.

'You're dying.' He said, more of a statement than a question. 

He was hoping Wade would smile and roll his eyes, he was hoping Wade would laugh it off, but he didn't. All he did was stare at Peter before nodding numbly.

"Yes."

Peter threw up. 

-

Wade had seen Peter wake up from a nightmare before. Wade had helped Peter after a nightmare. Wade had experience, he knew what to do should Peter be trapped in a nightmare, but the nightmare had never been about Wade. And Peter had never woken up crying, choking on his sobs and snot, unable to take in a breath because of how hard he was crying.

Wade had never seen anyone wake up from a nightmare like that. Peter had never woken up from a nightmare like that. Peter didn't know what to do. He'd woken up on his back and immediately clawed at his chest and throat, trying to take in any amount of oxygen. He did the only thing he could. He climbed into Wade lap and shook the older male up, begging desperately for help without using words.

Wade had sat up and pulled Peter to his chest, threading his fingers through Peter's hair and wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Breath baby. Breath. Come on. Follow me." Peter listened to Wade, copying him and taking a deep breath. Every other breath was interrupted by a sob, but soon enough he was breathing steadily and crying quietly. Wade had never seen Peter wake up from a nightmare like that but he'd helped Peter through anxiety attacks before.

Wade was rubbing Peter's back and humming softly, the vibrations in his chest relaxing Peter, whose face was in the crook of Wade's neck.

"Wanna talk about it?" Wade asked too soon, much too soon, and in an instant Peter was sobbing again. He clutched desperately at Wade's shirt, trying to find something, anything to anchor him.

'Please. Ple-ase. Don't go don't go. I can't lose you too. Not again. Please Wade. Don't die.' Hiccups broke up some of Peter's words and as soon as he got the sentence out he was screaming into Wade's chest. He couldn't lose someone else. Not to cancer. Not in this wretched place. Not when he was just finally getting his balance.

"I'm sorry baby. I'm sorry, but I gotta go. I need to."

'Why?!' Peter cries, tears and snot falling into his mouth.

"Cause I'm a terrible person Pete."

'But...but you're trying. And that's never bothered you before.' Peter sniffled, trying to get his bearings. He sat up, pulling himself away from Wade's chest so he could look the elder in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter. Look at where we are! Neither of us have any choice in this matter."

'But you do! It's-it's your body and your life you can...you-' Peter sobbed, bringing his hands up to scrub at his eyes.

'Please don't go.' He whispered weakly. Wade was silent for a while, an odd occurrence, but the silence was better than what he'd said afterwards.

"I'm sorry." He's sorry? That's all he can say? Why-why is he giving up? _Why did she give up?_ Why did they all give up on him? Is he not worth it? Fuck that. Fuck everything. His parents orphan him, his uncle dies, his aunt dies, Norman dies and that's somehow Peter's fault?! He didn't tell Norman to be a villain! That was his choice. He didn't tell aunt May to grow a tumor and not notice until too late. He didn't tell her not to take the treatment! He didn't tell that thief to shoot uncle Ben! He didn't tell his parents to be scientist and attract the wrong attention. That wasn't his fault! He didn't tell Wade to be-to be a worthless, suicidal sick piece of shit! So why is he the one paying? Why is he suffering? That wasn't fair.

Gritting his teeth, Peter let out a simple,

'No.' He shook his head pushing Wade down and sitting up, straddling Wade without notice.

'No that's-you can't do that!' Peter wasn't crying anymore, he wasn't begging or pleading, he was telling Wade. He was angry and helpless and God damn it he'd take control of something in his life. He pulled at the hair Wade was playing with not too long ago, as though trying to rip it out his scalp.

"Pete-"

'Shut. The fuck up. You don't-you don't get to leave me. You don't get to abandon me. That's not-no. I won't let you!'

"Pete-"

'No! You do this every time! Something becomes too much and you run. You run, Wade, and you leave me behind and I can't take it! You come back as though nothing is wrong and leave me feeling like shit! Feeling incomplete and unresolved and I hate it! And you can't do it this time. You can't.'

"Baby-"

'What?! What could you _possibly_ have to say?!'

"It's not all about you! _Fuck_. Fuck fuck fuck. It's always you this and you that shut the fuck up! You're so spoilt! You act as though the world owes you something and your mad because they have yet to pay up. Word of advice, the world doesn't give a shit. You get what you get and that's it. You're always fucking whining 'oh I lost my parents' 'oh I'm friends with a billionaire but he's mean so fuck him'. My parents were abusive pieces of shit you don't see me whining. You, are ungrateful."

How dare he? How dare he!

'You....is that how you feel? Am I just a brat you're babysitting?' Wade sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes with his hands.

"Pete.-"

'No. Tell me Wade. Is that how you feel?' Wade looked pleadingly at Peter, but he wasn't having it. He was sick of it. Sick of all of it.

"No. I just-you're being a little irrational here. It's-its not as black and white as you think."

'Then explain it to me. What-what could I possibly be misunderstanding.'

"Cancer doesn't get better! Not when it's this far ahead. Even if u took this collar off what then? I live forever? Watch everyone I love die while I'm still here? Do you know how hard that is?"

'Do you? Cause if you go that's the life you're inflicting on me.'

"Christ Pete. It's not just that. I have-someone's waiting for me on the next side. And I'm tired. So fucking tired."

'And you don't think I am? You think I'm just having the best time here?'

"It's not just here! Fuck. It's everything! It's life. I'm not living for anything or anyone so what the fuck is the point?" That...that hurt more than it should've. Of course Peter didn't mean anything to Wade. Why would he?

'What about Russell? Or..or Cable? Dopinder? Domino? You're going to just leave them?' You're going to just leave me, was left unsaid.

"They don't need me Pete. None of them. They'd be fine without me." But I won't.

'That's not fair, Wade.'

"You aren't getting it Pete. This whole conversation doesn't matter! I'm still in prison and I still have this damn collar around my neck. It doesn't matter whether I want it or not I still have fucking cancer. That shit doesn't go away. I have two options. Live forever, or die quickly. And I don't know if you can tell but they took away one of my options."

'Of course this conversation matters, Wade! What is it you liked to say..Intention over result. What-what happened to that?' Wade huffed, a short angry thing.

"What do you want from me Peter? I feel like...I feel like I'm not getting the whole story. And don't you think I deserve the whole story?"

'The whole story isn't going to change your mind.'

"No. No, it won't. We all lose people Pete. There's nothing we can do about that." Fuck. Peter was crying again.

'I know.' He whispered, too softly for even him to hear. Actually, everything was dull again, all the sounds and scents. Did he hit his head? Reaching a hand up to his head, Peter pushed gently against his scalp. Seemed fine. Huh.

Wade was right though, he did deserve the whole story. Sighing, Peter sank down, laying his chest against Wade's and closing his eyes. He was so tired these days. Wade wrapped his arms around Peter, steadying the male and holding him closer.

"There's....nothing for me here...."

'I know...'

Wade deserved the full story. Just not tonight.

-

Forgetting things wasn't a weird occurrence for Peter, whether it was homework or his birthday. Peter had a lot of gaps in his memories. He didn't mind them. They didn't bother him. 

In fact, he only ever noticed he was forgetting something when someone else mentioned it. He'd forgetting his lunch date with MJ and Ned, his curfew for Spiderman that Aunt May had set up, a whole night of patrolling (but Karen showed him the footage) and Mr. Stark's relationship status.

So he was confused, but less than surprised, when he woke up on top Wade with barely any recollection of how he got there. He was glad that Wade was still asleep, lest he be a witness to Peter's gay panic. 'Why the panic?' you ask, because Wade is Peter's crush and Peter is currently sitting on top all the muscle that makes Wade. His panic is reasonable.

Peter wants to wake Wade up and ask what happened. There are endless possibilities that could lead to Peter ending up on top of Wade. To preserve his sanity, Peter wasn't going to go into it. Yeah, definitely not going into it.

He was planning to get off of Wade's chest, he really was, but the larger male was holding tightly onto him and Peter didn't want to disturb his sleep. Not when it was so rare and valuable to the man. Not when it was the only time his voices were quiet. 

So Peter sat there, atop Wade, and waited for the man to wake up. Turns out he didn't have to wait long. Wade was always woken up by the slightest thing, probably an effect of his time in Special Forces, so Peter's movement must have woken him.

When Wade looked at Peter, he looked almost remorseful, and Peter couldn't understand why.

Cancer.

Oh yeah. That's why. Peter took a deep breath, staring at the iris of Wade's eyes to distract himself from that train of thought.

"Pete. I-"

'I can't remember what happened last night. If...if anything happened that is. I...sorry. It happens all the time. No need to worry. But yeah.'

"You don't...you don't remember? Anything? At all?"

'Ah yeah..not really..no. Did something important happen?' Wade was silent, staring imploringly at Peter before his expression shut off.

"No." That one word caused Peter's whole world to tilt. Literally. He fell off of Wade.

'Ah sorry. I'm fine.' Fuck. Fuck. Nothing happened. Fuuuuck. He'd have to talk to Wade about the whole cancer thing and he wasn't sure if he could. He'd also most likely snuck on top of Wade while he was sleeping. Fuck. Get your emotions under control, Parker.

Wade tried to help Peter up but the smaller male shrugged him off, cringing away from the contact and going back to his side of the room.

"Pete do-"

'Sorry about that. Goodnight.' Peter had no plan to sleep. In fact, he had no plan at all. He needed to be alone. Needed the silence and to not feel anything, but he also needed company. He needed his aunt and Mr. Stark and Wade. He needed his senses back. Needed to be anything but physically underwhelmed and emotionally overwhelmed. He needed to talk to Wade, needed to address the elephant in the room, but he didn't want to. He'd rather pretend nothing was wrong. Pretend everything would be alright, and Peter has always been good at pretending.

-

Wade was acting...off. Obviously something did happen and after realising Wade had lied (for some reason) Peter was as on edge as the other. Wade had gone to get their trays, even though Peter knew he wouldn't get two if it was him alone. So Peter was by himself. Bruce ditched again and Logan was...well who ever knew where Logan was.

Peter shuddered thinking about the last time he was alone. Fuck. He didn't want to do that again. He didn't want it. He hunched his shoulders and hung his head, trying to hide his tears and his face. Fuck. _Nooneseemenooneseemenooneseeme-_

"He-" Peter's hand shot out, wrapping around a large wrist and twisting the arm it was connected to. A tray fell to the floor, the large bang startling Peter out of his thoughts. He blinked the tears away, staring at...Wade. Wade who was staring at his arm. His arm. His upturned arm. Fuck.

Peter pulled his arm to himself, hiding it behind his back and staring at Wade with fearful anticipation. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He wanted to scream and jump and fight and break everything but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything! Fuck. Aunt May died, uncle Ben died, Norman died, Wade was dying and Peter couldn't do anything! Uselessuselessuseless-

"Pete?"

Fuck.

'Ah sorry. I could..I could go get another one and we can share. Told you they wouldn't give you two.' Wade was silent, his head clocked to the side curiously. He shook his head after a while clearing his throat and answering. It was like when-

'The voices! They-you...you can still hear them?'

"All day, every time."

'I thought they were...cause of your powers.'

"Powers don't cause insanity, Pete."

'Right. I...I'll go get your tray.'

-

Wade didn't bring up the scars, but he also didn't bring up last night or the cancer and Peter wanted to talk about it. If Wade wasn't going to, Peter would have to.

How the fuck was he going to.

Peter wasn't a confrontational person. He would much rather sweep it under the carpet or do nothing and hope for the best. Fuck. Wade was intimidating on his best days, how was Peter supposed to approach him when he was sulking? And the voices had him on edge, and Wade on edge was like...a...he was-fuck it. It doesn't matter what he was like the point is he's a big scary man.

Peter would have to approach slowly. He was going to move, he really was, his muscles were tense and ready for action but he found that he just...couldn't. He couldn't scoot closer to Wade and he didn't know why. He wasn't paralysed with fear he just-couldn't.

Fine. New plan.

'Wade?'

'Wade?'

"Hm? What?"

'I...are they being extra loud?'

"Always."

'Is it-' Is it because of me? '-what can I do? Can I help?'

"Well a bullet to the head usually does the job but I don't think that's what you had planned." Bullet. Peter froze, his blood going ice cold as his face paled. Cancer. Bullet. Cancer. Bullet. Cancer. Bullet. CancerBulletCancerBulletCancerBull-

"Fuck. Fuck. I'm sorry baby. I forgot. I forgot I'm so so sorr-"

'Do you want to die?' He hoped Wade would say no, that he'd just resigned to the inevitable, because if Wade said yes then Peter would understand. He'd know how Wade felt. He knows how Wade feels. And he'd be able to do nothing.

"Yes." Was the soft reply and fuck. Fuck. "Ever since she died there's...there's no point." Peter hated that he didn't even need to think to know who Wade was talking about. Hated that he'd heard so many stories and so many rants about that one person in Wade's life, but he also understood. He too lost the most important woman in his life, he too can't carry on without her, and he too wants to die. That's it right there.

He didn't want Wade to go, he needed Wade to keep him some sort of stable, but it wasn't about Peter. It was about Wade. It's always been about Wade.

Peter was scratching at his scars again, his arm limp in his lap as he stared in Wade's direction. God, why wasn't he enough? Why wasn't he ever enough for anyone?

'Okay.' He wanted a hug, wanted to lean his head on Wade's shoulder, wanted to fall limp and trust Wade to keep him upright. To keep him together, but he couldn't ask for that, couldn't risk the rejection.

'Wade I....I don't want to lose you.'

"I know baby. I know."

'But-but...if.....if this is what you want I can't stop you.' Wade looked stunned for a second, before a barely there smile touched his face.

"My angel. Come here." And Peter had never been more grateful for physical contact, never been more grateful for Wade.

-

Bruce popped out of nowhere during lunch, looking frazzled and shaken. He'd brushed off Peter and Wade's concern, sitting down and brushing back his hair with his fingers. Bruce didn't get a tray, no matter how much Peter and Wade protested, he refused. That - that crushed Peter, seeing Bruce so unwilling to eat.

'Why?' Peter had asked.

"Not hungry." Was Bruce's short and shaky reply. Peter was going to offer to share, but Bruce was gone just as soon as he had come. 

Peter's eyes searched the crowd but Bruce was gone. Wade was tense beside him, Peter going to question his reaction but before he could Wade muttered a quiet 'Be right back' and left. And that...well that hurt.

Peter sagged in disappointment, resting his head on the table as he closed his eyes. He was alone again. He didn't mind being alone, he was an introvert after all, but there was a hollow feeling spreading in his chest that had Peter feeling overwhelmed. And Peter hated being alone in the prison. 

Why couldn't things just go right for once?

As if on cue, someone grabbed his head from behind, a hand trailing down to massage his shoulders.

"Hello again. Baby."

-

Fuck. Peter was always crying wasn't he? Every fucking chapter is just 'Cry cry cry'. He wanted to get his shit together, he tried, but he was so very overwhelmed and prison just wasn't working in his favor.

So there he was, crying on the floor in the prison bathroom. Wet and stained and holding a makeshift blade in his hand. It was a 'reward' for his 'outstanding' work. A razor blade stuck into a toothbrush was somehow a reward. Fuck. He could get in a lot of trouble for even having it. Where the fuck was he supposed to hide it? He couldn't just leave it for some other criminal to take it. Fuck. Maybe he'd give it Wa-no. No bad idea. Bruce? Definitely not. Logan, perhaps...maybe.

Fuck. It'd been too long. He'd been there for too long. He had to get up. He had to get up. He had to-FUCK.

It was always about what he had to do and never about what he wanted or could do. Everyone got to be selfish while Peter made all the sacrifices and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. It wasn't fair! How dare his parents leave him behind? How dare uncle Ben leave? How dare aunt May abandon him? How dare they! And Wade, the fucking selfish bastard, how dare he leave Peter when he needs him most? It wasn't fair.

Something inside Peter broke a little more, he could feel the crack, feel him lose a bit more of himself. He hated this place, hated being a nobody, hated being a somebody. He just needed a break. Some relief. Life couldn't be this hard and miserable, right? There had to be some joy, some light at the end of the tunnel waiting for Peter, right?

Right?

-

Peter avoided Wade for the rest of the day. He couldn't see Wade, not when the older man made him want to come clean about everything. He had to get rid of the blade and he had to do it fast. He wanted to, he was going to, at least that's what he'd told himself, but he'd made no effort to ditch the weapon.

The scars on his thigh began to itch as the ones on his arms burned. Fuck. He wanted to cut. He needed to cut. Needed to feel the cool of the blade against his skin. It was a bad idea. He shouldn't. He shouldn't. He wouldn't. It was fine. He was fine.

Throughout the day, the feeling got worse. Of course it did, it always did, but Peter was resolute and he didn't grab the make-shift blade. No matter how tempted he was.

As a superhero, Peter had a lot of self-control. It was never about him. Not what he wanted and not what he needed. It was about the people he was saving, the people he was fighting for, so when it came to resisting temptation he was a pro. That was how he survived the day, by pretending this was just a normal day. This was just him forcing himself through another patrol because people were counting on him. People were waiting for him.

He ignored the fact that no one was counting on him anymore. His identity was public news, along with his crimes. Nobody would look at Spider-man the same way and nobody would look at Peter Parker. It was a truth Peter'd already resigned to. While he may still be alive, he'd lost his life. He thought things would be easier with Wade, thought things would be better. Often times, Peter was wrong.

For the genius people claimed Peter was, he sure was a dumbass. For example, crushing over a man in his late twenties early thirties who already has a lover and would much rather die than continue to live with Peter. Sure, Vanessa had passed, but Wade still loved her like she was still there. Wade was gonna let himself die cause he needed to be with her in whatever way he could.

Peter understood that. He just wished that he could be enough for Wade to stay. And try. And live. He wished he was enough for aunt May. When she was diagnosed, she refused treatment and Peter still couldn't understand why. Why she wouldn't even try for him. Why she'd resolved to coughing and trembling until they finally kept her in the hospital till her last day. It wasn't fair that everyone around him got to be so damn selfish.

Nothing about the life Peter had lived was fair.

Often times, Peter stops himself from thinking back. No matter how good the memories are or how bad, they hurt. It hurts, watching himself ignore May because he couldn't handle her decision. It hurts, watching himself fall into depression. It hurts, looking back on the days when he had everything and appreciated none of it. So he doesn't look back, because it hurts too much.

He wished he could go back to how it used to be. Wishes he could time travel and change things, change himself, but he can't and he's forced to live through the consequences of his actions. Actions he regrets. Actions he'll always regret. 

It seemed all his regrets stemmed from when he became Spider-man, and though he'd never regret becoming a hero and saving people, he'd always regret the consequences. 

-

Peter was trying, he really was, but it'd been months and the itch was only getting worse and it was so tempting. He'd never been one for violence or weapons but he couldn't help himself. He needed it, needed to feel alive, to feel anything but the gaping void left by all he'd lost.

He needed somewhere private though, somewhere the guards wouldn't see him, somewhere Wade wouldn't find him, somewhere private to hide his crimes and imperfections.

So Peter waited, he waited for lights out, waited for Wade's snores to turn guttural, he waited for the guards to start to relax, then he made his way to the toilet. His plan was for one or two, enough to release tension, light enough to heal without his enhanced healing. But that didn't happen, it'd been too long and so much had happened. His hand slipped, digging the blade deeper into his thigh. It hurt, of course it did, he wasn't high on adrenaline or low on depression, and the lack of his powers only heightened the pain, oddly enough.

By the time he ran out of space there was blood dripping down his thighs and pooling at his feet, staining the slippers on his feet. Taking a deep breath, Peter looked up, wiping the bloody blade against his clothes. He needed to clean up the blood, but it seemed insensitive and selfish to use the remainder of the toilet paper. He didn't want to leave a mess though, eyebrows would be raised and questions would be asked. He was also confident he'd end up in a straight jacket just like Wade had.

But he couldn't wipe it on his clothes, that'd be too much blood for him to shrug off as a nosebleed. Fuck, he didn't think this through, just gave into impulse. He couldn't use his sheets, they checked those regularly. If Wade saw all the blood he'd throw a fit...or not, but the guards were still a problem.

He could try to scoop it into the toilet but that wouldn't be very efficient. If only he had a mop. Leave it to fucking Peter to - there was rustling that sounded too close to him and then a blaring alarm.

-

Fuck that was loud. Everything was very fucking loud. Peter was doubled over, palms slapped over his ears to block the noise.

He heard someone yelling behind him (which wasn't helping his noise problem) and then something strange happened. Someone touched him and Peter, sensitive to the touch, jumped up and found himself hanging upside down on the ceiling. 

Wade was as shocked as Peter, looking back and forth at him and his own hands. Ever one to state the obvious, Peter said,

'My powers are back.'

"Are mine?" Wade asked.

'Hopefully we won't have to find out.' 

Peter murmured as he dropped down from the ceiling. Now that the surprise of the moment was gone, Peter found himself deafened and blinded by the surrounding noise and light. He had to close his eyes and take deep, concentrated breaths, reminding himself how to handle his Heightened Senses.

He tuned in to one specific sound, a heartbeat, and prepared himself for the brightness his eyes would have to deal with. Well he tried to, but the swoosh of their cell door opening and the yelling of the guards distracted him.

He felt Wade move in front of him, blocking him from the guards' view and talking cheerily to them. And himself, if the way his head was tilting was any direction.

"Yes yes hands up I know the drill, but do you know - shut up yellow - that gravity is actually pulling my arms down. Do you know how hard it is to defy gravity? I mean let me tell you it's - shut up - it ain't an easy feit. And I'm speaking from experience. Had this whole group of superheroes - well I guess you're right - alright this group of people and boy, gravity pulled them all kinds of directions. Anyways they're all dead and-"

"Shut up and put your hands up!"

"Alright no need to get loud. Could've just asked I mean unless you're into that. Should I say yes daddy?"

"5."

"What is that? Are you gonna spank me?"

"4."

"Oh a countdown!"

"3."

'Wade, just put your hands up.' Wade was silent for a while, letting Peter walk out from behind him with his hands held up.

"Yes daddy." Wade said, raising a brow at the guard as he put his hands up.

"Alright," The guard muttered, nodding to his partner, "go on. Out the cell. And keep your hands up, palm open." Peter walked ahead of Wade, following the guards instructions until they were outside the cell.

As if things couldn't get worse, this god of a man - well half a man - dropped down infront of them and incapacitated the guards. The man was bulky and metal and Wade seemed almost depressed to see him. Depressed and agitated.

"Wilson." The cyborg grunted, glancing at Peter before returning his full attention to Wade.

"Good to see you Cable! What's up? How's the kids? Long time no see." Wade's voice was full of fake cheer and Peter had half a second to question it before someone barreled into Wade, causing the male to then fall back onto Peter.

Peter grunted, grateful he had his strength back and could easily hold and push Wade. Which is what he did, minus the push of course.

"Fuck man. You know how hard it was to hack those fucking collars. Lucky Cable just missed ya do much."

"Domino! Always good to see lady luck in my life." At least Peter had now officially met Domino and Cable. Wade talked a lot. 

'Hate to break the moment,' Peter said, pushing Wade up so he was no longer leaning on him and not feeling remorseful at all, 'but what the fuck?'

"This does not concern you, boy." If Peter weren't so drained he'd be absolutely pissed at him, as it is, all he can do is sigh.

'I-' Fuck. More guards were coming.

"We've got company." Wade whispered excitedly. Cable man grunted, handing Wade a gun and turning to face the guards running towards them. Peter shook his body out, jumping up and down to get the blood flowing.

'The more the merrier.'

-

Peter dodged the bullet shot at him, surprised the guards weren't using tranqs. Although, he should've been less surprised. He'd been there for some months and experienced their treatment. They don't care about the prisoners.

"Ah fuck! Watch it! This ass is one in a million." At first Peter thought Wade was talking about himself, but when he turned around Wade was at his back, staring at his butt. And getting shot at, or rather through.

Peter rolled his eyes, pulling Wade out of the line of fire and spinning him so they were both facing the guards. He had to force back the memories the sound of shooting brought, separating Peter Parker from Spider-man. Peter never felt as alive as he did when fighting, the adrenaline a welcome rush in his veins.

He jumped up, kicking down a guard while punching another, continuously swinging his hand out for a web before he remembered he didn't have them anymore. He wondered where they were. He always went to court as Peter Parker, his costume having been taken away his first night in the police station.

"Fuck! I mean duck!" Peter followed Wade's command, dropping to a low crouch just as something was thrown at the two guards in front of him.

"Sorry bout that baby boy! Autocorrect!" Peter stood up, looking at all the (hopefully) incapacitated guards, keeping an ear out for anything besides the god damned alarm.

'More guards are coming.' He said, looking at Wade. Obviously his friends had come to break him out, so they should get going before they lose their window.

'You guys can go and I'll hold them back.'

"Woah woah woah baby, slow down."

'I can handle myself Wade.'

"Sure. That's not the point. I'm not going. Not if you aren't."

"Wade, we don't have time for this. If the little shit wants to stay back he can. We didn't come for him anyways." The burly fellow - Cable said, and Peter agreed with him.

"Shut your ass, Cable. Pete, let's go." Peter crossed his arms against his chest, tapping his foot impatiently before he remembered an idea he had.

He walked towards Wade, a frown on his face and a crease in his eyebrows.

'Wade, chin up.'

"We don't got time for these shenanigans-"

'It'll just take a second.' Peter muttered, reaching up to Wade's collar and gripping it as best as he could.

"What are you-" Peter pulled as hard as he could, breaking the collar in half.

"What the fuck, Pete?"

'You,' Peter strained through clenched teeth, poking a finger into Wade's chest, 'don't get, to die.' Wade sighed, throwing his head back.

"This again? Really?"

'Again?-'

"Guys, hate to break up the moment but there are more. And they are coming." Domino warned, backing away before jumping over the railing.

"Oh for fucks sake." Burly McBurl grunted, glaring at Wade. "Grab your boyfriend and let's get the fuck out of here."

"He's not my boyfriend you fucking robot." That...that hurt more than it should. Everything with Wade seemed to hurt more than it should. Like getting shot. Peter'd been shot before, but somehow, Wade made it worse this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please follow me. Please.  
> [My Tumblr](http://nobodiisstuff.tumblr.com/)


	4. Part 2: Ride or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. Finale. Yes. Expect a sequel BTW.
> 
> Gyaaaah. We've reached the end. I'm so excited and anxious eeee. Uhm the ending is lame but I plan to follow the story up with a sequel so forgive me. I love you guys so so much. Thanks for uhm...reading my shit. :)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> Implied/referenced self-harm, implied suicide, implied/referenced rape/assault, anxiety attack, unhealthy coping mechanisms, self-hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://nobodiisstuff.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Follow me for uh updates on the sequel

* * *

“Oh shit baby I’m so sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up Cable!”

“Ow shit - what the fuck man?” 

“Oof! Are you okay? I - well why do you think I fell you fucki-”

“Dom! I could use some of your luck!”

“Dopinder! Good to see you. Oh yeah...hm? Yeah this is him, he’s not himself though, with the whole bleeding out th-”

“Geez. He woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Does anyone know surgery? Anyone have tweezers? Guess I’m using my hands.”

“What the fuck do you mean the collars are back online? So he’s powerless again? Fuck man!”

“Alright baby I’m just gonna yank this out.”

“AH shit that’s a lot of blood.”

“Tape! I need tape!”

“This is a string...you’re lucky he’s a slim thicc.”

“You with me baby? No. That works too.”

“You think the Avengers are gonna come for us? I hope so.”

“Al! Yes I know, no blood on the carpet.”

“Peter, I’m gonna need you to wake up. I know baby, just open your eyes for me.”

“Jesus.”

“Why’s he still unconscious?”

“Pete? Shit.”

“Come on Spidey. It wasn’t a lethal shot. Please wake up.”

“So he’s just drained?”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Pete!”

-

Peter had been shot before. Peter’s had to deal with a gunshot wound before. Peter doesn’t pass out because of being shot, maybe have a little panic attack but never pass out. What the fuck? What was actually wrong with him? Was he so incompetent that he couldn’t handle getting shot? God, Peter hated himself sometimes.

“Petey babe?” Peter groaned, reaching out for Wade. Not one to stray too far, Wade grabbed Peter’s hand. Peter grunted, opening his eyes and trying to sit up. He needed to get moving. He needed to go back before things got worse.

“Woah there buddy, slow down.”

‘I’ve been shot before, Wade. I can handle myself.’ Or at least he should’ve been able to handle himself.

“Who shot you?” Peter rolled his eyes, ignoring Wade’s question and pulling up his shirt to see the wound.

‘Who treated it?’ 

“Uh...me..”

‘Hm..not bad for someone who heals.’ Well, not as bad as he’d expected. It wasn’t exactly ideal and didn’t seem too sanitary but it would have to do until he healed. 

“I am a genius in all shapes and sizes. I’ve been telling you babe, you can’t contain this, much as you’d like to keep me to yourself.”

And wasn’t it horrible that he did want to keep Wade to himself? That he was so selfish he couldn’t stand the thought of Wade liking anyone else. It was disgusting the way Peter wanted to chain Wade to himself and he hated himself for it more and more. 

Perhaps it was just flirting to Wade, but every word set Peter’s emotions in a spiralling mess. Sometimes good, sometimes bad.

‘Right…’

“Right. Let’s get this collar off.”

-

“Cable, Wade is not gonna let you shoot his boy toy.”

“Domino is right. I’m not gonna let you shoot my boy toy.”

“Well you better unless you want to get found.”

“Why don’t we ask Peter?” Yes. Ask Peter. Why wasn’t Peter included in this conversation in the first place? Not that it made much difference, you know, with his super hearing. Also, ‘boy toy’? Really?

“Baby boy!” Wade yelled, which he should know was unneeded. Peter was only in the next room. “How would you feel if Cable shot at your collar?”

‘Wade, I can just heal if I get any damage.’ Cable grunted, probably folding his arms. He seemed to like his arms crossed against his chest. 

“Absolutely not. No. Not happening.” Wade insisted.

‘I’m going back anyways, I don’t understand why I’m entertaining this conversation.’ And he really didn’t. He should’ve insisted going back the moment he woke up, but he was weak and selfish and wanted to smell the fresh air and feel the sunlight through the windows and listen to Wade. 

In a split second, Wade was crouching in front of him, looking Peter seriously in his eyes.

“You’re not going back there, Pete.”

‘I wasn’t asking, Wade. I killed a man. The same law I inflict on others I ought to follow.’ Wade sighed, rolling his head back.

“I’m not stupid, Pete. I know what they did to you there. I know what happened. I know what you did.” Wade grabbed Peter’s arm to emphasise his point. “I saw the blood on the floor too. You aren’t going back there.” Fuck. How dare he? He had no right to pretend to care. He had no right to twist Peter’s heart and cause butterflies on a whim. He had no damn right! Peter yanked his arm out of Wade’s grip.

‘And who are you to tell me what to do? You have no say in what I do. It’s my life, my personal life, and you, are just a work colleague.’ It hurt, but that was the truth, Wade didn’t care for Peter outside of Spider-man. He’d made that painstakingly obvious.

He pulled away when Peter returned his flirting, he tensed and flinched when Peter was the one to initiate contact, he always came up with some dumb excuse whenever Peter invited him over to his apartment.

In fact, he’d been the one to postpone Peter revealing his identity. Some bullshit about it being an irreversible decision and Wade was dangerous yada yada.

“Work colleague my ass. You and I both know that’s a lie.”

‘It doesn’t matter, Wade! You don’t care! You don’t care about how I feel or what I want so no, you do not get a say in my decisions.’

“Fuck that. I’m not letting you go back and that’s final.” Wade was pissing him off. He kept sending mixed signals, confusing Peter and his poor heart. He knew Wade didn’t care, knew he didn’t love him.

He knew, but Wade kept making him doubt. He kept making Peter think, ‘maybe’ and ‘what if’. It wasn’t fair. Peter knew what he should do. He knew what the right decision was, but he was selfish. He was selfish and weak and hopelessly in love.

Maintaining eye-contact with Wade, Peter made his decision with a heavy heart.

‘Cable, get this collar off me.’

-

Wade was staring at Peter anxiously and, honestly, it was doing things to his heart. He loved that Wade cared enough to worry and hated that it was all platonic. Fuck Peter and his stubborn heart.

Cable was behind the pale mutant, holding Peter’s shoulder to steady him as he shot at the collar. At first nothing happened and Wade looked like he was on the verge of an inappropriate joke, and then the collar snapped in half. Wade smirked triumphantly and Cable sighed and Peter, Peter cried.

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t want to be that person that cried at any chance, but it was so overwhelming. It wasn’t just the collar. It wasn’t just jail. He’d always be in prison, whether behind bars or outside in the sun, but if he could break off his physical chains, then maybe there was still hope for him after all.

Peter was desperate to hold onto that hope and never let it go. He didn’t want to be this way for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to be haunted by his thoughts and by the dead. He didn’t want to chew at his lip and bite his nails while anxiety gnawed at his chest. He didn’t want to feel shitty every day for the rest of his life.

Wade was chattering, asking Peter why he was crying, reassuring Peter that his head was still connected to his body. It was - it was really fucking embarrassing. Peter pushed Wade away, hand tingling where it was connected to Wade’s chest.

‘Fuck Wade, I’m fine. Jesus.’

“If your definition of fine is crying then you need to check the dictionary again.” Peter sighed, a quiet, exasperated thing. Instead of addressing Wade’s question, Peter changed the topic, wiping the drying tears off his face.

‘What now? I can’t go home. Everyone knows my name and face. I am a fucking criminal. So what’s your plan now?’

“We beat the shit out of whoever put you in that hellhole.”

‘No.’

“Sorry Pete, I wasn’t asking.”

‘Wade, no.’ And now they were glaring at each other. Peter hated fighting with Wade, but the familiarity of it...settled something in him.

-

Wade knew. He’d seen the scars, the blood and he knew. Fuck. Peter didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about anything or anyone. 

He wanted to ignore the scars, ignore the pain and ignore the grief. But he couldn’t. He knew that he couldn’t and that he shouldn’t but he hadn’t been left with much choice. It was too much too soon, he was drowning in all the conflicting emotions and Peter couldn’t handle that. 

So he didn’t. He shoved it down and bottled it up and left it to be dealt with at another time because he couldn't, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to.

-

Cable and Domino had left, leaving Wade and Peter alone in the apartment Wade called home. Well, alone except for Al who may or may not have been eavesdropping. The place was new to Peter. They always went to Wade’s apartment when they hung out, but he seemed to live in two places.

“So you mean to tell me, your best friend put you behind bars, for life?” Peter cringed at Wade’s incredulous tone.

‘I killed his father, Wade.’ Peter mumbled into his knee, curling into himself tighter.

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds like he was trying to kill you. It was an accident. A mistake. Self-defense. It wasn’t your fault.” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes at Wade.

‘It doesn’t matter. I turned myself in, my identity is public and I don’t have anywhere to go.’ 

“It doesn’t matter? It doesn’t matter? Of course it fucking matters! Those are important details Pete. You don’t just forget to mention he was a villain!”

‘I...I didn’t want to stain his public image, Wade. If the public found out the whole company would fall apart.’

“The fuck does that matter?!”

‘They probably figured it out anyways. People aren’t dumb, Wade. They can connect a few dots.’

“And yet the only reason you’re out of that prison after literal goddamn months is because my friends broke me out.”

‘Leave it alone.’

“No! I’m not gonna leave it the fuck alone until I get the explanation I deserve!”

‘He took me in alright?! I had no one! No fucking one! And he took me in as if I were his own. Harry is my best friend and I killed his father. I killed the man who shared his house, his food and his fucking wealth with me! So yeah, I let the public believe he was a good man for a little longer.’

Wade sighed, rubbing the crease that head begone to form on his forehead.

“Pete, I’m sorry.”

‘It’s fine.’ Peter said bitterly. It wasn’t fine. It would never be fine, but he didn’t want to go into it.

Wade was silent, his head tilted in thought, or maybe he was just listening to the voices.

“I have an idea.”

‘Oh for Christ’s sake Wade! Can we-can I get a break? I’m-’ Peter’s voice broke and he hated himself for it. He hated how weak he sounded, how weak he was. 

Fuck his powers, fuck the super-strength and the enhanced senses, he was nothing more than an emotionally stunted boy who got anxious over everything and was far too easily overwhelmed. ‘I’m tired.’

Wade was staring at Peter, his eyes unrelenting until he finally nodded. Peter let out a soft sigh which quickly turned into a yelp as Wade picked him up, taking him to an oddly cleaned room. Peter wondered if Wade was obsessive or just had mercy on his blind roommate. Or maybe Al was the one to clean the room.

‘I can walk perfectly fine.’

“I wouldn’t consider limping perfect. Until you can move with an ever present sway in your hips you’re on bedrest.”

‘I’ll heal.’ ~~Unlike uncle Ben.~~

“Not fast enough.” Wade chirped cheerily, gently depositing Peter onto his bed. He went searching for no less than half a minute before draping a clean blanket over Peter. Already, Peter could feel the exhaustion of the day catching up to him and sleep tugging at him.

‘I’m not a baby, Wade.’ Peter murmured, the rest of his sentence cut off by a yawn. ‘Stop pampering me.’ Peter pulled the blanket further up over him, shifting until he was comfortable. He was conscious enough to hear Wade’s whispered words,

“Oh, I plan to absolutely spoil you baby boy.”

-

Peter raised up his shirt, peeling the gauze off and looking at the mostly healed wound. It was mostly closed and only caused some discomfort. Peter could live with that. With a grunt, he got up, and walked to the living room. Al was there, trying to assemble an Ikea drawer.

‘Uhm...would you like some help with that ma’am?’

“Ma’am,” Al muttered, grumbling under her breath, “I can do this damn thing on my own kid.” Peter stood there dumbly, staring at Al as she placed a piece of wood right where it belonged.

“I can feel you staring.” Peter nodded, noticing the screws laid all over the place. He wondered if he should say something, but she did seem to know what she was doing.

‘Right.’ He mumbled, walking to the kitchen. He turned on the sink, grabbing a cup from an open cabinet and filling it. Peter sipped on it as he made his way back to Wade’s room, glancing at Al. He could tell why Wade liked her. He seemed to like strong and vaguely intimidating people. Peter didn’t understand how Wade considered him a friend.

Speaking of Wade, he wasn’t home, having left sometime during the night. He’d muttered to himself the whole time, unaware Peter was awake. Something about Weasel and murder. 

Peter was really hoping he didn’t go kill anyone. He was doing so well. He still maimed people but he hadn’t killed anyone recently; and Peter didn’t want that to change.

He knew Wade was a good person deep down. Sure, he had questionable morals, but he’d also had a tough childhood based on violence. There wasn’t much to be done in his situation and he still managed to try. He’d never hurt an innocent bystander and all the children loved him.

With a heavy sigh, Peter changed out of his bloody clothes, dumping them on the bed as he went looking for the shower. Taking a hot shower wasn’t as refreshing as Peter hoped it would be. 

He ended up crying, scratching at his chest as his sobs left him breathless. He’d had enough anxiety attacks to know how to calm himself down from them, but he still found himself crouched under the scorching fall of water for more than an hour.

His scars stung as he dug at them, forcing his body to put more energy into healing them, but the pain was grounding.

He ended up using a towel that smelt strongly of Wade to dry off, his breathing unsteady. God, he hated himself. Couldn’t even take a fucking shower without breaking down. He was useless. Fucking useless. 

Throwing on a shirt far too big for him and Wade’s underwear, Peter walked back out the front. He’d forgone pants, realising they were far too long and far too baggy to be comfortable. Wade was a big guy.

The drawer seemed to have fallen apart, Al sitting back in a chair with her head thrown back.

‘You didn’t screw it.’ Peter informed helpfully, stooping aside the falling drawer. ‘Screwdriver?’ He needed to distract himself, and work always helped. He’d prefer something more mentally tasking but he’d take what he could.

Al pointed at a box in the corner with her foot and Peter got up to get it. Within the hour he had the drawer built and set up in Al’s room. It did nothing to distract him but at least he didn’t feel like he was going to burst out of his skin. 

Wade still hadn’t come back, but Peter forced himself not to worry. Wade could heal. He wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t abandon Peter. He wasn’t dead in some alleyway, bleeding out from a gunshot wound in the chest because Peter had let a criminal get away without caring about the consequences. He wasn’t dead in a hospital bed, weak and pale and fragile. 

Hecouldhealhecouldhealhecouldhealhewouldhealhewouldhealhewouldhealhewou-

“Peter.” No. No he knew that voice. He knew that voice. “Peter.” The voice whispered teasingly. He was hallucinating. He knew it, but he still turned around, his heart shattering in his chest. 

‘Mom.’ 

“You always do this to yourself Pete. You know better than to get attached. They’ll just end up dead. Like me. Like your father. You’re-”

“Peter!” Peter shook himself, bringing his mind back to the present. There were tears on his face and he was quick to wipe them even if Al couldn’t see them. “Stop crying and go answer the phone.”

Peter didn’t even bother questioning the old woman, accepting that she must’ve been psychic or something. It was embarrassing being heard crying, but Peter was used to it. He was always fucking crying, after all. 

He hadn’t even heard the ring that was near deafening. Peter answered the phone, cringing when he was met by static and noise. There were a few yells and shouts before Wade started talking in a much softer voice.

“Al, dear, fetch Petey for me.”

‘It’s Peter.’

“Perfect. Shut the fuck up, Yellow. Anyways, how’s that bullet wound doing?”

‘It’s healed.’

“Great great. You like pineapple?”

‘...yes?’

“Great!”

-

Peter smelt a distinct scent of blood, alcohol and gunpowder before his nostrils were invaded by fresh out the oven pizza. And then his ears were assaulted by Wade singing his theme song, or rather, screeching his theme song. Peter didn’t even know Deadpool had his own theme song. Distantly, he wondered who would not only write, but sing a Deadpool theme song. Unless Wade made it up.

“Baby!” Wade sing-songed, “I’m home!” Peter could feel a headache clawing its way to the surface. God, if Wade saw him he’d know something was wrong. The mercenary was perceptive, noticing things Peter didn’t want noticed, and Peter couldn’t find it within himself to pretend to be fine.

From the room, Peter could hear Wade and Al argue playfully until Wade won the discussion, leaving Al as she groaned in disgust. Leaving Al and joining Peter.

“Awe, did you miss me?” Yes, he missed Wade so much it hurt. He wanted to say no. He should’ve said no. Wade flirted with everyone, he didn’t mean anything by it, but Peter was painfully honest, especially when it came to Wade.

‘Not any more than usual.’ He confirmed, hiding under Wade’s blanket. It smelt faintly like the larger male. Peter was only able to pick up the scent due to his enhanced smell, but it was heavenly. 

It was heavy and full, keeping Peter grounded. Just like the heavy blanket Wade would throw over Peter when he fell asleep on the couch, or like uncle Ben’s hand on his shoulder, or Harry’s body weight as he leaned against Peter, or the boxes aunt May made him carry.

Wade was silent for far too long, allowing Peter to get lost in his thoughts. Fuck, he messed up. He should’ve just said no. He should’ve said no!

“I know he didn’t mean it but a man can dream…” Wade was mumbling again, “Alright! I brought pizza. We’re gonna get you fed, I’m gonna check that wound, and then we’re gonna deal with your...predicament.”

‘What?’

“Shhh. I’ve got a plan.”

Apparently Wade was a big fan of pineapple on pizza. Peter didn’t really have a preference. It was still a pizza. If you don’t like pineapple on pizza pick it off or better yet, don't order it.

Wade also had a metabolism that could rival Peter’s. He always did, but he still let Peter scarf down the majority of the pizza, not even hesitating to offer Peter another slice.

In no time the box was empty and Peter was holding his shirt up, Wade’s fingers poking and prodding at his wound. Peter found his mind drifting, imagining those fingers touching him in different circumstances.

Wade would probably be gentle, as he always was when it came to Peter. He’d take his time and explore, finding and abusing all of Peter’s good spots until the younger was writhing beneath, begging for anything, everything. Fuck. 

Peter had to clear his head of those thoughts before he embarrassed himself, ignoring the warmth radiating from Wade’s hands and how his skin tingled where Wade had touched him.

“It isn’t fully healed. Does it hurt?”

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

“Does it hurt?”

‘Yes Wade, it’s causing me mild discomfort. I got shot for fuck’s sake.’ Perhaps he was more snappy than required but he needed to focus on something other than Wade and hearing that deep voice ask a question with such a demanding tone was doing things to him. 

He was a simple man okay? You get a little rough with him and-fuck. Fuck! In a split second Peter was doubling over, dry heaves spilling from his lips.

“What’s wrong baby boy? He’s seen my face multiple times...well no...fuck.”

‘I’m fine I just-’ Fuck. He couldn't even say it. Couldn’t think of it. He could only hope that his mind blocked it out and he forgot. He couldn't-he didn’t want to remember what he’d lost. What they’d taken from him. 

‘I got dizzy.’ It wasn’t a lie. His head was still spinning, his sense jumbled, but the words still tasted bitter on his tongue.

“Pete, I’m not-”

‘Please.’ Wade let out a sigh, looking agonised, and Peter hated being the reason he was wearing that expression. Still, he nodded, rubbing Peter’s back soothingly.

“Okay. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

‘It’s the middle of the afternoon Wade.’

“And you’re recovering. Down ya go baby. Close your eyes and dream.”

Peter did dream. It wasn’t a good one, but it was a dream nonetheless. He pushed it aside as soon as he woke though, because heroes didn’t have nightmares. Spider-man didn’t have nightmares. 

Even though he woke up sweaty and short of breath and had to blink away tears and was shivering despite how hot it was Peter refused to acknowledge the nightmare. Refused to acknowledge his own weakness. 

Even though he’d only slept for 2 hours and spent the rest of the day haunted by the dream, even though Peter hadn’t slept for the night and couldn’t blink without flashes of the dream flying through his mind, he continued to ignore the nightmare.

He lied when Wade asked how he was, he lied when Wade asked if he’d slept well. He lied, his eyes bloodshot and bags quickly forming under his eyes. And he knew, he knew Wade was seeing through his lies; he knew that Wade was going to press for answers, but each lie that tumbled out past his lips was followed by a pleading look to please leave it be, please let him have this, please, please, please.

He knew it wasn’t healthy and that he was just desperate to have some form of stability within himself; because everything was falling apart in front his eyes and he was on the edge of a breakdown.

But Wade got it, and gave a stiff nod each time, his face pinched in concern. And Peter hated himself, each and every time for each and every lie, for every wounded expression that flashed on Wade’s face before he covered it with false cheer. He hated himself for his weakness, for his inability to be better. He hated himself for surviving.

Wade checked Peter’s wound again, letting out a pleased hum when he saw how the healing progressed.

“Alright. Let’s get you in some proper clothes.” Wade insisted, looking around for something that might fit Peter’s smaller frame. He left the room with a muttered ‘Maybe some of Nessa’s.’ that left Peter feeling both guilty and pleased.

“Where are we going?” Peter couldn’t help but ask, sitting up from his position on the bed.

“We...are going...to enlist some help from a few friends!” Wade chirped, handing Peter some clothes and insisting he change quickly.

“Wade let me-let me bathe-”

“No time for hygiene! Come, the tide is quick.” Peter rolled his eyes, a fond smile pulling at his lips. Wade’s ridiculousness never failed to bring a smile to Peter’s face. Without further question, Peter changed into the clothes, grunting when he noticed how tight and, well, provocative they were.

Then again, Vanessa had been a prostitute. No, maybe, maybe she just liked feeling...sexy. It was an empowering feeling, not that Peter had had much experience. 

Or, maybe she'd worn tight clothes to tease Wade, to remind him what he had, of what she had. Or maybe it just fit Peter tightly because of the difference in build. 

Did Peter really just spend a whole paragraph talking about somebody else’s clothes? The author must really be desperate for a higher word count.

-

Apparently, by friends, Wade had meant the X-men. Peter had heard him mention them a few times but he’d never imagined meeting them, much less ending up inside the Xavier Institute. 

And yet, he’d still ended up meeting not only Logan but Xavier Charles. The Xavier Charles. The mansion was literally named after the telepath. And Peter hadn’t even known.

Wade had walked up to the mansion, knocking on the door rather aggressively and yelling expletives. Which, somehow, worked. No more than a few minutes later a steel giant was swinging the door open, staring at Wade and Peter with unfiltered surprise.

“Colossus. Good to see you my metal friend. I’m in dire need of some assistance.”

“Deadpool. It is good to see you, though it is cause for concern and confusion.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it big guy.” Wade pushed past Colossus, dragging Peter along. Peter didn’t mind, too distracted looking around to worry about the fact that Wade was very delicately holding his hand. 

Peter definitely was not freaking out internally and avoiding eye-contact for fear of his feelings being found out, not at all. He just found the interior of the plain mansion fascinating. Yep.

“Who is your friend?” Colossus asked with a thick Russian accent. Wade ignored Colossus, instead opting to yell.

“Where’s my favourite ball of fire?” Wade yelled loudly, a smile taking over his features.

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” A short-haired female with black lipstick responded, scowling at Wade.

“There she is! Fuck me yourself, coward.” Said female made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat that was drowned out by the squeal a pink-haired female made.

“Yukio!” Wade yelled in delight, opening his arms as she ran into him, holding him in a crushing hug. Peter bit back all the bitter remarks that threatened to spill past his lips and forced his face into something more neutral than the scowl he wanted to send her way. 

He had no reason to get jealous over Wade. The man wasn’t his. Peter cleared his throat, bringing the attention away from Wade and onto him. Fuck, that was not what he meant to do.

“Who’s this?” Yukio asked softly, staring at him with an uncontained smile. Everyone was looking at Peter as if expecting something from him. It was making him anxious. Despite his arms being covered by the long sleeves on his shirt he still hid them behind his back, not liking all the eyes on him.

They were judging him, waiting for him to make a wrong move, a mistake. Fuck. He couldn’t handle this.

‘Uhm...what?’

Wade was looking at him with a weird look and Peter couldn’t handle it. Not Wade too, please not Wade too.

‘I uh...I’m..’ Should he introduce himself as Peter Parker or Spider-man? He still didn’t know why Wade had brought him there. Did it matter? He had no hope of donning the suit and saving his city again. And they’d probably seen the news anyway. They probably already knew who he was and wanted to spare him some embarrassment. ‘Peter.’

The unnamed female scoffed, pulling a shocked Yukio out of Wade’s grasp.

“Ah! You must be friend Wade speak highly of!” Colossus boomed, patting Peter far too hard for his size and material. Peter grunted with each pat.

‘I guess.’

“What brings you here? You convince Wade to join X-men? Wade convince you?”

‘What?’

“I actually hadn’t thought about that. Much better than what I had planned.” Wade mumbled. “You might want to sit down for this one actually.”

-

Wade explained the whole prison thing, about Cable and Domino breaking them out, about Peter’s situation, although he kept the details out. 

“And what do you want us to do about that? We aren’t lawyers or billionaires.” The brunette bitterly informed. Was she just always bitter? Could she even smile? Not that Peter was one to talk, but still.

“Well I actually hadn’t settled on a plan. Peter’s the big planner but he’s been a little out of it.” Peter tried not to make a face at that comment. Had he been a little out of it? Not more so than he usually was. There wasn’t exactly a time when Peter was ‘into it’. 

Now that Peter thought about, he couldn’t remember a time when he was well and truly happy. He knew that a time like that did exist, he just couldn’t remember when or how he’d felt, and wasn’t that just a depressing thought? He couldn’t remember his own happiness.

“I was thinking something like murder or politics. Believe me, I would’ve gone to the Avengers, but they don’t exactly like me.” Wade continued, nudging Peter in silent encouragement to input his opinion.

‘Oh I..I know some...Avengers.’ More like he looked up to one as a father figure and he and Bruce had built up a friendship during his time in the prison and Steve respected him and Thor saw him as some sort of little brother and Natasha always smiled at him and gave him tips and Clint liked to clown around with him and, yeah, he was definitely friends with the Avengers.

Everyone was staring at him again and Peter felt uncomfortable once again. He still didn’t know why he was there or what Wade wanted to do. Although, he hadn’t asked so he had no one but himself to blame for his ignorance. As usual.

“I do not follow.” Colossus said, breaking the silence and shaking everyone out from whatever trance they were in.

“How do you know the Avengers?” Yukio asked, the question causing Peter to cringe.

‘Business?’ He said it more like a question, not knowing how exactly to respond to the question, cut him some slack. ‘I’m not following either.’ He said afterwards, eager to change the subject, and Wade nodded absent-mindedly.

“Yeah that’s fine. You don’t have to do anything. In fact, you and teenage warhead can uh braid each other’s hair while Colossus and Yukio and I go do the men’s work.” Wade was smiling, seemingly proud of his plan. “If you don’t mind me stealing your girlfriend for the day.” He finished as an afterthought.

“Sure, if you don’t mind my hands on your boyfriend.” The brunette teased, smirking at Wade victoriously.

“Touche.” Peter was still floundering at the fact Wade didn’t reply with a dismissive ‘he’s not my boyfriend’. It was endearing and had a bit of hope growing within his heart. “He’s not my boyfriend though.” Nevermind.

-

Wade left, dragging Colossus and Yukio with him. He’d talked to Peter privately before he left. Reassuring Peter with kind words and loose smiles and soft, gentle caresses. Peter was loose limbed by the time the trio said their goodbyes, expecting to be gone for the whole day.

Peter wasn’t stupid, he realised that this was all for him. This was Wade trying to help, trying to clear things up and keep Peter out of jail. It was sweet, and despite how uncomfortable and undeserving Wade’s effort made him feel, he found himself weak to the older man’s will and whims. 

Wade could ask anything of Peter and he would scramble to make the man happy.

As soon as Wade was out the door though, Peter was left feeling nothing but exhaustion. Peter slumped against the front door, a weary sigh slipping out his throat.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like dating that bumbling idiot.” Peter was surprised to hear another voice, forgetting he wasn’t alone.

‘Ah, I haven’t gotten your name.’ Peter reminded, turning away from the door and looking at the burnette. She seemed to consider her answer before she shrugged, moving back into the living quarters.

“Ellie.”

‘Nice to meet you, Ellie. And uhm, Wade and I aren’t dating.’ Peter muttered, following Ellie and sitting on a couch across from her. He was tense, could feel it in the way his back was straight and he was sitting rather than sprawling. She could probably tell. Fuck. 

He didn’t want to be rude, but he didn’t know her, he didn’t know any of Wade’s friends, and he did kill the man who once lived in this mansion. Taught in this mansion.

Peter was so caught in his growing anxiety he didn’t notice the surprised and questioning look Ellie sent his way.

“You aren’t...dating? Actually?”

‘Uhm..no. Why? Did Wade say something?’ Wade had said Peter wasn’t his boyfriend. Did she think he was joking? But why would she think that? Did Wade like Peter? No, he couldn’t, he loved Vanessa. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t like Peter though. Maybe he’d never feel for Peter the same as he did Vanessa but that didn’t mean that they didn’t have something. That they couldn’t be something.

“No.” Peter was waiting for her to continue, to clear up Peter’s confusion and ignite the spark of hope until it was a raging flame, but she did none of that and left it at that.

‘No?’

“No.” She left it at that and Peter crumpled a bit inside, the light that had begun to push back the darkness drowning his heart and clouding his mind extinguished, the darkness creeping back into the surface and bringing a bone-deep exhaustion along with it.

Peter slumped, collapsing into himself.

‘Right.’ Ellie cleared her throat, staring at Peter with discomfort written clearly on her face.

“Did you...see Logan? Wolverine. Big, grumpy beast of a man?” 

Peter bit his lip, holding back a sob that did nothing but clog his throat and make breathing harder. He didn’t want to talk about Logan because that meant talking about Charles and talking about Charles meant talking about death and assa-assault and Peter couldn’t handle that.

He nodded, a small, stilted thing, but it seemed to be all the prompting Ellie needed.

“How’s he doing? Hasn’t killed anybody I hope.” Ellie snarked, a hint of a smirk on her face. Peter cleared his throat, pushing his emotions away from the surface so he could speak clearly.

‘No he-’ He wasn’t the one causing trouble, ‘he’s fine.’ They fell back into an awkward silence, Peter biting at his lip.

‘Do you have a bathroom? Can I..can I use it?’

“Uh…” Ellie seemed startled by the abrupt question, but she was quick to pull herself together, “yes. Down the hall on the left.”

‘Thanks.’ Peter was quick to race down the hallway, his footsteps quick and light as they pulled him towards the bathroom. He threw himself into the room, barely managing to lock it before he was bent over the toilet and throwing up. 

He thanked whoever had the bad habit of leaving the toilet seat up as he spilled all of what he’d eaten and more into the toilet. Peter sighed heavily, leaning against the door as he tried to get his breathing under control.

He needed to pull himself together. He couldn't afford to have another anxiety attack. Not here, not so soon. He needed a break. 

With a deep, steady breath, Peter flushed the toilet and left the bathroom, making sure there weren't any tears or signs of his sickness. He was going to go back to the living room, but thought better of it and ended up looking around. 

The mansion was big, much bigger than the house he'd shared with his aunt, though that was expected. Peter was surprised to realise they had it all to themselves. Surely, they couldn't be the only ones living here when it was so…big.

Peter almost jumped out of his skin when he felt the familiar tingling of his spidey sense.

“Who the fuck are you?” Shit shit shit. He was in danger, he shouldn’t have been, but he was. Peter turned around, surprised to find a teen looking at him. Well, he assumed the boy was a teen. He looked far too young to be anywhere near Wade’s age.

Peter could already guess who the obese male was, having heard enough stories from Wade. 

‘I’m Peter..erm...Wade’s friend.’

“And what the fuck are you doing ‘ere? You a mutant?” Say no say no say no they’ll know they’ll know they’ll find you they’ll find you.

‘Does it matter?’ Peter asked, with more annoyance than what he was feeling.

“Why’re you getting defensive? You tryna hide something?”

‘You were defensive from the start.’

“Yeah cause some random fucking pussy just waltzed into my home like he owns the place.”

‘I didn’t waltz. And I came here with Wade.’

“And yet there isn’t a fucking trace of that bloodthirsty maniac.” Peter was highly uncomfortable, his spidey sense sending shivers up and down his spine. He didn’t know how to control the situation, how to ease the tension between the two.

‘I don’t know what you expect from me.’ And maybe if Peter wasn’t in a constant state of depression, maybe if his thoughts weren’t so overwhelming and loud and jumbled, maybe if he could find it within himself to actually try, maybe he’d be able to throw some snarky responses. To use the mouth Spider-man was known for. As it was, Peter could only force the truth past his lips.

Russell scoffed, looking agitated as his fists clenched and unclenched continuously, his palms starting to glow. Peter felt the tingle in the back of his mind become intense and he prepared himself for a fight.

Before either of them could make a move, Ellie pulled around the corner.

“Are you done comparing dick sizes?” And suddenly there was no tension in the room, Russell was no longer defensive, instead relaxed, despite the response he gave Ellie.

“Fuck you too.” Oddly enough, Peter could understand how they were friends. Sure, they showed nothing but distaste to each other and seemed to hold different values, at least from what Peter’d heard about them, but they all seemed to have a similar base.

They were brash, used insults and curses whenever they could and seemed to hide how much they cared or how scared they were under layers and layers of false bravado.

-

When Wade had said they’d be gone for the whole day, he was not kidding. But even with the lack of things to do, Peter wasn’t bored. Quite the opposite. Peter would dare to say he was overwhelmed. Over-fucking-whelmed.

Between Russell’s constant rage and Ellie’s indifference, Peter found his social battery drained. The two kept bickering, though never actually fighting but it was fucking exhausting. And Peter’s thoughts weren’t helping because God forbid Peter be on his own side.

Peter sighed again, rubbing at his temples as he curled up further in the corner of the couch. He was hungry, tired, irritated and missing Wade, because his body and mind would never let him forget about his crush on Wade. Oh, and he had a headache on the edge of becoming migraine.

And it wasn’t just them. His senses were going haywire, he could hear the wind rustle the trees outside, could smell the sweat crowding on Russells skin, could see the ants on the windowsill, feel the cotton of his clothes rubbing against his skin. It was unbearable and had him breaking out in shivers every few minutes.

He was hoping nobody noticed. Everyone who was there to notice, noticed. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” And really Russell? That was how you planned to approach Peter? Fuck you, too. Peter tried to hide his wince, tempted to just cover his fucking ears.

‘I’m fine it’s just..’ a nightmare. This whole thing has been a fucking nightmare and everyone I love is dead and it’s my fault and I wish I could join them, ‘cold. It’s cold.’ 

Ellie scoffed, an unimpressed look directed Peter’s way. He couldn’t suppress his grimace when he made eye contact with her.

“Yeah right. Like it’s cold enough in late June to cause shivers.” June. It was June. Two months away from Peter’s birthday and he hadn’t even known?

‘It’s cold.’ Peter repeating, his attention drawn away from the conversation and onto the time. It was June. Peter was turning 18 in a handful of months and he hadn’t even noticed. Not that it mattered; he had no one to celebrate it with. He was alone. He was alone.

He’d always felt alone, always felt isolated, but he really had no one. He had no one in his corner and it was all his fault. He’d pushed everyone away and killed those he couldn’t get rid of. He was alone.

No, no that wasn’t true. He still had Bruce and Tony and Logan and Wade, God, Wade. Bruce and Logan weren’t there for him in the outside world, but he still had Tony and Wade. He’d always have Tony and Wade, because Tony cared for him like he would his own and Wade was loyal. 

But Tony wasn’t immortal or indestructible and Wade was...Wade was fragile, he was sensitive and caring and he was hurt. He was hurting over Vanessa and Peter knew what that felt like, he knew he’d never be enough for Wade, never be able to compare to Vanessa.

As much as he knew the two of them wouldn’t leave of their own accord, Peter was sure they’d end up ripped out of his grasp somehow. It was inevitable. It was history repeating itself, whether you called that fate or deja vu or destiny.

“Peter?” Oh, they were talking to him. Pulling himself out of his mental spiral, Peter looked at Ellie and Russell, who were watching him expectantly.

‘What?’

“Are you okay?” Why was she asking him this again? Didn’t he answer her already? Maybe he didn’t, maybe he’d only thought he did, but what if he did and she was just asking for confirmation. He didn’t want to seem weird, or rather, weirder. He was just confused. Isn't it odd that he’s almost always confused?

‘I’m-’ Before Peter could finish, the front door was being pushed open and Wade was stumbling in with Yukio and Colossus.

“Motherfucker!” Before Peter even knew what was happening, he had a lap full of Wade. “Comfort me, Petey.” Wade whispered, staring at Peter through the eyes of his mask. Wade was loud, he always was, but he was aware and conscious of Peter’s elevated senses. It didn’t do much when his senses went haywire though. 

He hummed, pulling Wade’s mask off and looking at Wade’s blue eyes. They were beautiful. He could see each tissue weave together like a thread to form Wade’s iris. 

Peter wanted blue eyes, but he’d been stuck with brown. They weren't ugly or bad, they were just...mundane. Made Peter feel like less around people like Wade with sculpted bodies and defined facial features and blue fucking eyes.

He wanted to scratch Wade’s scalp and massage his shoulders and knead his muscles, but they had company and Peter didn’t want to make his crush obvious. If he started he wouldn’t be able to stop and that was just a train doomed to crash. So Peter clenched his jaw and looked away with a soft but resolute, ‘no’.

Wade whined petulantly but sat up without a word, not touching Peter besides to knock shoulders with him. It was severely disappointing and relieving. Wade had removed the temptation, though not completely, but he’d left Peter feeling cold where he once was. 

It was a gross, conflicting mess of emotions that Peter didn’t want to deal with.

“So how’d it go losers?” Russell asked, having been informed about the plan by Ellie during the day.

“We make small improvement.” Colossus assured, flashing Peter a reassuring smile. Peter smiled back, although it looked more like a grimace, uncertainty obvious on his tight expression.

“Lemme translate that. Stark is an absolute fucking shithead and didn’t even hesistate to shoot me. But like he also listened to us so me and Petey pie will be going back there tomorrow. I also scared the shit out of that Osborn prick, wasn’t hard actually he’s a pussy. Oh and we spent a lot of time lost.” 

It took Peter a while, but when he’d processed everything Wade said, he was overcome by emotion, the main two being Hope and Rage. As usual, rage was the first to overwhelm him.

Peter grabbed Wade by his suit, dragging him upstairs and away from the group. Wade went willingly but he obviously knew something was wrong, if the way he was tense was any indication.

Peter spun around at the top of the staircase, facing Wade as he physically fumed.

‘What the fuck, Wade?!’

“I can’t say baby boy. I must admit, I’m confused.”

‘You can’t just go threatening-’ Peter cut himself off, taking a deep breath so he could control himself. ‘Wade, you betrayed my trust.’

“How the fuck did I do that?”

‘I told you not to-’ Peter took another deep breath, glaring at his clenched fists until he was able to calm down. ‘I told you to leave Harry alone.’

Wade snorted, looking at Peter as if he were delusional; which he might be.

“You didn’t tell me shit. In fact, you haven’t told me anything! You haven’t told me any fucking thing Pete! I don’t know what the fuck happened to you. I know nothing! Don’t I deserve to know?!”

‘What do you want from me Wade?! What do you want me to say?! Harry was my best fucking friend! Of course I didn’t want a mercenary to scare the shit out of him when he’s mourning his father’s death!’

“What about you Pete? You’re mourning him too! This isn’t just about Harry! I dont have any fucking idea how you even ended up living with him! I don’t know why you’re cutting yourself deep enough to have scars! I don’t know what keeps you up at night or why you’re so quiet now! I don’t know anything!”

Wade’s words hurt. They hurt because they were true. Peter felt like a dick. He kept ruining the few good things life had given him. He’d lost his family, his friends, his privacy and his dignity, he couldn’t handle losing Wade too.

‘Fine. Fine! You want the whole story? Fine. My aunt is dead. Cold. She is a corpse 6 feet underground because I couldn’t save her! I have these stupid fucking powers and I couldn’t save her from a tumor! A tumor! She was the only family I had and she’s gone ‘cause I didn’t take care of her like I was supposed to. And I did the same thing, the same fucking thing to the man who took me in. He’s dead because of me! Me! I did that!’

“Pete-”

‘No! Listen to me. I was in that prison for months, Wade. Months. And you know what the first thing I did was? I killed Charles fucking Xavier! I’m standing in the house of the man I killed! Talking to the friends of the man who died at my hands! And what did he die for? He died in vain Wade. Vain! Because I’m so fucking selfish that I willing-’ Peter’s voice cracked, the memories flooding in and leaving him unbalanced. ‘Willingly gave myself up.’

Wade looked heart broken, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and sorrow and it was all Peter's fault but he wasn’t done. Wade wanted the truth so he was going to give it to him.

“Baby boy..”

‘And I love you Wade. Not like a best friend or a work colleague or a father. I am in love with you. And I know that you love Vannessa and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, but you wanted the truth and you-’ Peter was cut off by Wade’s lips pressing against his.

He couldn’t help it, he relaxed in Wade’s grip, leaning against the man as Wade’s hands came up to cradle his face and wrap around his waist. It wasn’t intense, or vicious, or desperate nor was it sweet, or gentle or kind. It was a simple press of their lips, telling Peter he wasn’t the only one. Reassuring Peter that he wasn’t alone.

Peter wrapped his arms around Wade’s middle, resting his head in the crook of Wade’s neck.

‘I’m still mad at you Wade. You can’t-he’s my best friend.’ Wade sighed and Peter felt it, felt the soft inhale and gentle exhale. It was, frankly, amazing. It wasn’t the first time he’d hugged Wade, but it was different.

Done for a different reason, with a different meaning. It wasn’t the end of something or a hello or goodbye, it was the beginning of something, the beginning of them.

At least, that’s what he thought, unless he was reading the situation completely wrong.

“I know, but I’m not sorry. And I don’t think I’ll ever regret what I did.” Wade said, the vibrations of his voice soothing Peter. God, he was so hopelessly lost for Wade. 

Peter hummed, letting out a soft breath against Wade’s neck and preening at the shiver that shook Wade’s body.

‘I know just...don’t do it again...please?’ Wade nodded, letting the subject drop. Peter knew they still had things to talk about, but it’d been a long day and he was tired. Peter pulled back, staring at Wade. No, he had to say it now. He needed to know.

‘What is this Wade? I confess, you kiss me. What does that mean? What does that make us?’

“It makes me a sick fuck and you a confused teen.”

‘Wade.’

“I...I’m twenty eight Pete. Maybe older, and you're barely even eighteen. I can’t-I can’t do that. No matter how much I want to.” Peter’s heart broke inside his chest. Could one thing in his life go right for once? Jesus fuck.

‘Wade..I-’

“But my self control isn’t very good and I’m a bastard. I...two months isn’t a long time, but I don’t think I can wait that long to kiss you again.”

‘Then don’t you don’t have to-’ Peter was desperate now, desperate to hold onto the one thing life hadn’t taken away from him and death couldn’t.

“Pete-”

‘We can-we can date or...or whatever you don’t have to wait.’

“It’s illegal Pete.”

‘Since when do you care about the law? Plus, I’m consenting. And-and we don’t have to do anything until I’m eighteen I just-I need this Wade. I need you.’

Even as the words left his mouth, Peter was uncertain he’d ever be able to ‘do anything’. Even thinking about it had bile rising in his throat. But it was Wade, and Wade made everything better. Peter would do anything for Wade.

Wade still looked hesitant, biting his scarred lip and looking anywhere but at Peter.

‘And I want you...do you...do you not want this? Is it me? Is it...is it Vanessa?’

“No it’s not-I don’t want you to grow and realise you never loved me. If we do this I’m in for the long haul. Okay?”

‘Okay. Yes. Please, yes.’ Peter couldn’t explain in words how much he agreed, how much he wanted Wade, so he settled for nodding and throwing himself into Wade’s chest, laughing with relief. Wade chuckled, Peter feeling the vibrations against his chest.

This was enough. 

This was enough.

-

Had expected to go back to Wade’s apartment, but the mercenary said it’d be easier if they stayed the night. Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about sleeping in an unknown building with people that were practically strangers. 

He voiced his concerns to Wade, but he reassured Peter that he trusted them. It did little to sooth Peter’s nerves, but what Wade says goes. At least in Peter’s mind.

Peter was expecting to share a room with Wade, and hoping to share the bed, but Wade said he still had business to attend to, ruffling Peter’s hair and leaving a soft peck on his forehead before ushering the smaller to bed and leaving.

Peter had hoped things would change between the two of the, and while something was different, it was still the same. Peter still didn’t take priority, and it hurt a little.

He’d never expected to be the center of Wade’s attention or his life, and he didn’t want to be. He wanted them to be individuals as much as he wanted them to be a pair, but he was hurting.

He could barely close his eyes without seeing the dead, couldn’t sleep for more than thirty minutes without a nightmare waking him up. He knew, he counted. He still dug at his scars and pulled at his hair. He wasn’t okay and he needed Wade to be there for him, there with him.

Peter huffed out a sigh, twisting angrily in under the covers and straining his ears to hear his surroundings. His body was tense and alert, waiting for a threat or any sign of Wade’s return. Neither came, even as the sun began to peek through the curtains and the light had Peter’s eyes straining to adjust.

Peter remained alert and alone and for hours, sleep deprived and on edge. He shouldn’t have stayed up waiting, he should’ve gone to sleep, but that would’ve caused more harm than good.

No, this is what he needed, even if his body was suffering, even if he was sluggish and snappy, it was better than the memories, better than the dreams, better than the ghosts.

Peter was in the kitchen, his legs bouncing against the floor nervously. So far it was just Colossus and Yukio in the kitchen with Peter, which he was silently grateful for. He wasn’t sure if he could handle anyone else's attitude at the moment.

It was obvious he hadn’t slept, one could see it in the bad under his eyes that his healing factor was struggling to heal, or the redness of his eyes, or the way he downed three cups of coffee within the same minute, but no one commented about it.

At least not until he was reaching out to pour his fourth cup of coffee.

“Eh...Peter, I don’t think it’s good idea. Caffeine is most unhealthy. Here, eat a granola bar.” Peter stared at Colossus for a long time, trying to control the wave of irritation that washed over him. He knew the mad was just looking out for him, and he was right.

Peter kept his face carefully neutral as he placed his cup down and took the granola bar, sitting back down with a muttered ‘thank you’. Peter didn’t want a fucking granola bar, but he’d been raised with manners and Colossus was staring at him expectantly.

Gritting his teeth, Peter ripped the wrapper off and broke a piece of the granola off with more force than necessary. He ate it silently, but when he was done Colossus was still staring at him.

‘Uhm...it’s good?’ He said, unsure of what Colossus expected. The man of steel nodded, returning to his cooking. Peter folded and smoothed the granola wrapper, his mind drifting.

He thought about the granola bars he’d shake out of the vending machine, or the granola yogurt he’d bribe out of MJ. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of granola, but it was cheap and filing.

‘When is Wade coming back?’ Peter couldn’t help but ask, reprimanding himself for his neediness.

“He didn’t tell us. We were sure you’d know tho.” Yukio said, looking at Peter curiously. Peter nodded, desperate to get out of her gaze.

‘Right.’

“Are you guys okay?”

‘What?’ Peter was quite reasonably caught off guard. Why was she asking that? Had Wade said something? Was that why he wasn’t there? Was it Peter’s fault? Fuck, he shouldn’t have yelled at him. Did Pet-

“We heard you fighting last night and thought...well..” Yukio trailed off, looking away sheepishly.

‘Oh. We’re fine.’ Well he hoped they were fine. He still didn’t know where Wade was or why he was there. ‘I’m going to the bathroom. Do you have any spare clothes?’

“Yes! I will bring for you.” Colossus suggested. Peter was grateful for the lack of questions and was quick to leave his seat. It’s not that he didn’t like Wade’s friends, they were just...too much.

They were invasive and loud and brash. Like Wade, but multiplied. Peter couldn’t handle Wade multiplied, just the one please.

Peter ended up in the bathroom with no recollection of how he got there. It wasn't the first time muscle memory had gotten him from point A to point B, but it always surprised him. 

Colossus came with the clothes a few minutes later, when Peter was under the shower spray and gritting his teeth. He wasn't an angry person, he didn't harbour hatred or hold grudges but fuck was he mad. 

"Wade has just arrived. He suggests you be quick." Peter bit his lip to hold back a snarky retort. 

'Thank you.' He murmured instead, listening for the door to close before he sighed heavily. 

Sometimes he wished he could take a break, for the world to stop spinning and people to stop moving. He wanted to just take a deep breath without worrying over what was next, who he had to save what he had to do. He was fucking sick of it.

Peter’s footsteps were heavier than need be as he walked into the kitchen, glaring at the hunched form of Wade. He was in costume, his mask raised to his nose so he could eat some of the eggs Colossus had made.

Peter sat down next to Wade, the X-men suit wrinkling at the joints. He poked at his own plate of food until Wade nudged him with his elbow and he reluctantly scooped some eggs into his mouth.

They ate in silence, the atmosphere between them tense. Peter was still mad that Wade had left him, but he knew something was wrong.

‘Wade.’ Peter uttered, holding Wade’s elbow and turning him towards Peter. They were in the spare room they’d used, getting all they needed so they could head to meet Mr. Stark.

“Peter.” Wade whined. He sounded exhausted and miserable, and Peter hated to push but he needed to talk to Wade.

‘How many?’

“Pete-”

‘How. Many?’ He insisted, tightening his grip on Wade’s shoulder.

“I didn’t keep count.”

‘You always keep count.’

“Yeah well I didn’t this time!” Wade shouted, breaking out of Peter’s grip. He was agitated. Of course he was.

Tentatively, Peter came up behind Wade and wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his head on Wade’s shoulder blade. 

‘The voices?’

“....Yeah...yeah…” Wade sighed, his arms dangling at his sides. “I...I’m old Pete. I’m old and-and immortal. And you’re….you’re not even eighteen. I can’t- I can’t take that away from you. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

‘You aren’t taking it from me if I’m giving it to you.’

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

‘I’m not some kid, Wade. I know what I want. I know what I need. Is it...is it because I’m not...I’m not Vanessa?’

“Fuck no, baby boy. No...no one is like Vanessa. And I..I’ll always love and miss her but you aren’t her replacement. I don’t want you to be like her.”

‘Then what is it? Why-’ why am I never good enough.

“I’m scared okay? I’m scared. I’m not a good person, never was never will be and you’re….you’re an angel. You’re perfect. You can do so much better. You deserve so much better.”

‘I’m not perfect. Or an angel. And I don’t want better. I want...I want someone who understands and relates and cares. I love you, Wade. Isn’t that enough?’ Wade turned around, leaning into Peter and hiding his face in Peter’s hair.

He didn’t respond, but Peter didn’t need him to. He understood the message loud and clear. They still had things to talk about, and obstacles to overcome, but in Wade’s arms Peter could pretend everything was okay. And one day, maybe everything would be okay. For now, they had to talk to Mr. Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://nobodiisstuff.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Ehehehhehe follow me on Tumblr:  
> [My Tumblr y'all](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nobodiisstuff/blog/nobodiisstuff)


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